


Get No Harder

by kelleigh (girlfromcarolina)



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Drug Addiction, First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-09
Updated: 2011-02-09
Packaged: 2017-10-15 13:33:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 29,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/161291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/girlfromcarolina/pseuds/kelleigh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was the summer that made coming back to life worthwhile.  Based off of Farmer's Daughter, which is a terrible, terrible country song.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Get No Harder

**Author's Note:**

> I'm going to start by saying, this is ridiculous. The inspiration for this story, the word count, and everything I went through to get it written. All of it, ridiculous. I mean, the farmer's son, really? It sounds cliched when you don't look deeper, but from the beginning, Jared was more than the farmer's son and Jensen was so VERY much more.
> 
> This began when I had a bad day at work. I got in my car, flipped through radio stations, and settled on some twangy country. Farmer's Daughter was the next song in the queue. I'd never heard it before, but the lines were clear and the picture was formed before I even got home. Jared was the wayward son and Jensen was the addict, looking for work and looking to save himself. He found so much more. ♥
> 
> I love this story, I do. For all I complained about it, I'm proud of it. It's my longest one-shot that wasn't written for Big Bang and I consider it a huge accomplishment no matter what.

"I need somebody with two strong arms." The man's weather-worn face tightens in scrutiny, eyeing Jensen's build. "Don't hurt to have a truck neither."

Jensen's truck is all he's got outside of too many scars and too few dollars in his wallet. Green paint on the old Chevy is wearing through in places; it's got too many bangs and scratches; it ain't worth a repair shop's time.

"So long as you're willing to work and get your hands dirty, I'll take you on."

Jensen stops worrying at the cuffs of his shirt long enough to shake the farmer's hand.

"I'm your man."

The Padalecki's farm is the biggest in the county, hundreds of acres spread out over northwestern Missouri. If there was a better place to go for work, Jensen didn't know it. His options were slim and there was no way he'd risk straying any closer to major cities. Heading west, he'd whipped through St. Louis as fast as his humble Chevy would take him. Threw a pin at the map and ended up here, catching a printed flyer calling for a general handyman on a telephone pole in town.

There are miles of fences to fix during the first two weeks, a job that had fallen by the wayside, Mr. Padalecki tells him. Jensen's truck groans under the weight of fresh timber posts, his muscles begging for a break that isn't coming. Past when his bones urge him to stop, Jensen works until Mr. Padalecki—Gerry—comes by and tells him to quit.

"I can do a few more."

"Sun'll be down in half an hour," Gerry says on that particular day, his white shirt gone beige with years of working outdoors. "Can't do much in the dark. You need to quit."

Jensen lets his hammer drop in the dry grass, sweat running down his temple gone with a wipe of his forearm. Gerry nods and walks away, never lets the conversation meander into anything more.

"I'll quit when I'm ready," Jensen growls to the setting sun, grabbing another post from the flatbed.

Tonight, he can go a bit longer.

~~~

When the fences are done, Gerry gets Jensen on one of the tractors. Shows him how to drive the lumbering relic through the fields.

Up in the seat, he's more exposed to the summer sun. It bakes through his shirt and broils into the deeper layers of his skin. Every night Jensen peels off his clothes and takes a lukewarm shower. Even that burns. He twists until the water pricks like icy needles on his shoulders, eyes squeezed tight. In a week he's gone through two bottles of aloe lotion and a can of benzocaine, skin smelling like cold chemicals all day long.

"You can work in the barns if you want." Gerry's looking at the broken skin on Jensen's hands, raw past the point of hard labor. "No need to suffer, 'cause I ain't cruel."

Jensen soaks up the pain and lets his mind smother it. "I'm good."

It takes Gerry longer to look away, eyes lingering more than they used to. "North fields, then. Four through ten. You should be done by quittin' time."

Highway's to the south meaning it's quiet on the northern edge of Padalecki's vast property. There's a creek that winds away from the river and swirls through a copse of shade trees. Between working fields eight and nine, Jensen takes a dip in the cool water.

He scrubs his arms quickly, hairs raised against the sudden chill. Won't touch his stomach, just sinks and lets the water surround him. Toes squish into the creek bed, muddy silt like a massage on the bottoms of his feet.

The sun steals the water back when Jensen gets out, cooling sensation gone in less than ten minutes. So much for relief.

He steers the tractor back around dusk, walks out of the barn to a sudden commotion coming from the porch of Padalecki's house.

"You were supposed to be here a month ago!"

Gerry's voice, livid in a way Jensen's never imagined hearing; the farmer's tone is scathing and Jensen's glad not to be the target.

"Didn't Mom tell you I was going to Daytona?"

Jensen's steps stop. He can't see who's talking but now he has a pretty big clue.

"You know she damn well didn't, Jared," the farmer shouts, the sound carried clearly across the yard. "I raised you better than this!"

"You didn't raise me at all!" The second voice fires back, much younger in tone and texture. "I don't owe you anything—"

"Owed me at least a damn phone call." Gerry's voice bleeds anger. If Jensen had a father, he'd never want to be raged at like this. Fate and fatherly cowardice spared him something, at least. "I had to hire someone on to do your job!"

Jensen starts to panic.

"Let him keep it," Jared spits. "I'll go home."

"You will not! You're gonna work. I ain't sending you back to your mother."

Jensen can't stay for the rest. He retreats to the Chevy, slams the door to seal himself inside.

 _I won't find another job. I don't want another job. I can't—_

The words play on a loop until Jensen gets home. Home being little more than a spare bedroom above the Claridge's garage. An olive-green Tupperware bowl sits on the doorstep—still warm—when Jensen climbs the stairs. If it weren't for Pam Claridge being a generous cook at seventy-two years old, Jensen would starve. Again.

Into the shower and out; eat the homemade mac 'n cheese before it goes cold; wash it down with tap water. Jensen moves on autopilot until he collapses on the old spring mattress and the panic crawls back into his nerves.

Five a.m. gets closer but Jensen can't find his way to sleep. He doesn't pray but he hopes with everything in him that the job's not gone come morning. If that disappears, Jensen falls back into nothing and he might not make it out this time.

~~~

The sun's dull when it appears over the eastern horizon, gray light in Jensen's rearview as he pulls up to the largest barn.

Gerry's waiting.

Jensen walks over and thinks about dying. No one'll miss him; his mom will never be sober enough to hear the news.

"Jensen." Gerry sounds tired, too, as if his sleep was as thin as Jensen's. "Got some news. My son's back—"

The wave of depression rolls over him and pulls back, scraping Jensen over the rocks. He has to dig his nails into the meat of his palm—pain to cancel pain—just to hear.

"—and he's gonna be working along with you."

Jensen looks up. "I thought—"

"I know," Gerry says. "Jared was supposed to be here but never came. That's why I needed you. You've got a good head, Jensen. Always in your work. It ain't fair to cut you loose when my son won't work half as hard."

"Is he coming out?" It's nearly six and Jensen's got to get a move on. This is his job—he's going to own it now and make sure it stays that way.

"Can't seem to get him outta bed today." The old farmer scowls, glances back at the house. "I'll send him along."

~~~

He doesn't see Jared at all the first day. The second, Gerry meets Jensen in the morning with coffee and shakes his head.

"I'll send him along," he repeats.

Jensen heads out into the fields not caring one way or the other. Working alone, there's no one to hear him talk. He's never been good at listening to himself but out here he's trying. Spending a dozen-odd years in a haze, Jensen never had the time to get to know his own mind. Hard work earns him the clarity he used to hide from.

He's clearing an irrigation trench when he feels an odd pressure at the base of his spine, the weight of unfamiliar eyes. The young man leaning on Jensen's Chevy stares with sharp eyes and a pseudo-casual posture. Jensen meets his gaze for a second then buries his shovel back into the soil.

Five minutes pass; Jensen's got the trench a quarter of the way cleared.

"So you're Jensen."

The voice sounds better without the vitriol. Calm but condescending. Jensen keeps working.

"Are you gonna stop?

"Gerry wants the trench cleared out before lunch," Jensen explains, involuntarily toneless. "If I stop that won't happen."

"I'm Jared."

"I already know that."

Jensen doesn't ask for help and Jared stays put against the truck. The sun moves, lengthens Jared's already lean shadow. He's tall, big work boots leaving deep impressions in the soil. Tan skin, unmarred to Jensen's eyes, that wants to bask in the sun, not repel it with loose layers like Jensen.

The pile of dirt next to Jensen's feet grows; the trench gets deeper. Jared watches like it's fascinating but his eyes reveal the lie.

"Can I do something?"

"Do whatever you want," Jensen says, dull pain beginning to throb from wrist to shoulder as if his bones are being squeezed together. "You can leave if you want."

Jared pushes off the truck with his shoulders squared. "You'd tell my dad I was here?"

One of the things Jensen's learned about himself: he's not a liar anymore. Not with Gerry or the other farmhands.

"Nope."

He brings the shovel down hard, props himself on the handle. There's water in the truck but the ten yards between them turns into a minefield of awkward silences. Neck bared to the sun, Jensen lets his sweat evaporate.

The truck's door creaks on old hinges, opens then rattles shut. Jensen turns and sees Jared standing in front of him with the sweating water jug.

"I know I'd need it," Jared says, no trace of that light Midwestern drawl in his voice. He resembles his dad in other ways—in the angle of his nose and arch of his brow, the tight pull of his lips when he holds back a thought.

The water's cool, slides down his parched throat like ice on hot skin melting away the hurt. Jared looks out towards the west, tilting the sunglasses that had been pushed up in his hair.

"How long have you been here?" Jared starts the conversation once Jensen's digging again.

Putting his back into the job, every breath a small accomplishment, Jensen doesn't answer. Jared caps the water and stashes it in the cab, hems of his pants the only part of him that's dirty.

Might be minutes, might be hours. Jensen works until the sun's directly overhead. He's shocked that Jared's still watching. The trench is clear, soil smoothed back into the adjacent fields.

"Done yet?"

Jensen promised to spend a few hours in the soybean fields and, if there's time left in the day, give his truck the oil change it's needed for a month but Jensen couldn't afford. He throws his shovel in the flatbed, walks past Jared who's rocking on his heels, long arms crossed defensively.

"Heading in for lunch?"

Jensen's fortunate today—cold, leftover macaroni's gonna make a decent lunch. Better than water or stale coffee. Jared climbs in the truck when Jensen does, taking up too much space on the passenger side, and he scowls at Jensen's silence.

"Can I at least have a ride back?" Jared asks. "I swear, you don't have to talk to me."

So Jensen says nothing and Jared sighs as the engine turns over.

~~~

If Jared doesn't bother working, Jensen doesn't bother talking. No matter how many questions the farmer's son spews, Jensen ignores him. But Jared picks up on that quickly—he works even if there's barely any effort behind it.

Sometimes, Jensen's quiet regardless. Jared talks through the hours and barely notices how one-sided things are.

At an outlying section of fence, Jared brings up his mom. A bitter topic Jensen wants to block out, but he keeps digging a new post hole.

"I didn't even want to come out here," he's saying, contributing to the work by holding the new post while Jensen digs, sets, and fills. "I've never liked it out here, there's nothing to do. Jacksonville's so much better. You've got football, the beach, boats. Have you been there?"

A few seconds lapse—Jared's learned that when Jensen wants to answer, he does it quickly—and he continues.

"A bunch of my friends were going to Daytona Beach for two weeks, so I had to go. Not like my dad needed me—he had you. But man, it was great. Jet skiing, a different bar every night, and dancing until I went deaf. I fucking love clubbing."

Dark rooms, too many bodies. Sweat and liquor and every other kind of sin in the air. The promise of everything if you were just willing to party. Jensen remembers.

He digs harder.

~~~

More often than not, Jensen's been in the field for a few hours by the time Jared comes out. Today, Jared walks up just before ten with a paper bag and a navy blue baseball cap which he hands to Jensen.

"The sun's got your number, man," he says. "You have enough freckles. They're gonna burn in permanently."

Jensen takes the cap. It's soft at the edges, old and broken-in. He likes it instantly.

"I found it in my closet. I don't usually keep much here. All my stuff's in Florida or at school."

Instead of waiting on a _thank you_ , Jared tosses the bag in the truck and says, "That's lunch. You never take breaks and it sucks."

"You need a break?" It just comes out of Jensen's mouth, thoughts to words. But Jared grins like an idiot.

"Touché, and you're a dick."

Living up to the name, Jensen's quiet for hours even after Jared picks up the spare shovel. But he does eat the extra sandwich Jared brought, grateful for a way to keep the edge off of his hunger.

On Friday, Jared leads off with a heavier question.

"So why are you here?"

They're repairing the oldest tractor, more rust than paint on the body. It probably shares mechanical DNA with Jensen's truck. Jared observes, not a single fingerprint of grease or rust on his t-shirt, and hands over tools when he's asked.

"I'm here to work." Jensen tightens a bolt and hands the wrench back.

"That's deep," Jared mocks. "How about the real reason?"

The real reason is a thousand miles and a lifetime away where it's nobody's business but Jensen's. He sits up next to the tractor but Jared's eyes are unwavering.

"Don't make me guess. You won't like it."

Jensen shrugs. Reality's bad enough; a guess won't come close.

"You lost your job. Did you get caught screwing the boss's daughter?" He passes Jensen a heavy pair of pliers. "Or you're divorced. Saw the wife cheating and you bailed."

Crouching down, a draft tickles Jensen's midsection where his shirt's ridden up. He tugs it down in a flash, overbalancing and dropping the pliers. Jared's inane guesses stop in a heartbeat. There's a question left over in the silence. Quiet interrogation, one staring and one avoiding that gaze.

Finally, Jared hops off the workbench and Jensen nearly sags into the rusted metal body.

"Fine, I don't really give a shit." Jared's voice holds more anger than his expression.

Jensen feels him stomp out of the storage shed, light vibrations up through his joints. He's left to scrape harsh patterns into the dust and dirt by his knees, denying the hope that Jared might have been lying just now.

Pam brings up a chicken breast and sweet potatoes that night; she rarely lingers in Jensen's doorway past small talk. Jensen eats but barely tastes. He wonders if Jared saw—if Jensen's scars forced him out of the shed on hasty feet. No one would blame him. Jensen least of all.

Without knowing the truth, what would Jared tell his father? There's so much Jared could assume in a split-second, most of it off-target, but there could be enough to tear holes in the thin peace Jensen's made on the farm.

Logically he needs to think about his options, but logic's steered Jensen into black holes before and, truth is, he wants nothing beyond this job. The last two months have been the most stable Jensen can remember being and there's no going back without consequences.

~~~

Gerry's cussing into his cell phone when Jensen walks into the barn early the next morning.

"Next time you lower the price without askin' me, you can kiss my business goodbye." The phone clicks shut and Jensen watches Gerry's chest deflate. "Sorry about that, Jensen. Did you need something?"

"Keys to the gates off road fourteen," Jensen says. "I'll get them back to you right after lunch."

"I might as well just make you a master set." Gerry digs in the pockets of his heavy-duty cargoes. "Save you the trouble of askin'."

"Sure." Hope is kindled in Jensen's chest, glowing at the chance for permanence. "Is Jared coming out today?"

Gerry hands over the weighty ring of keys. "He said something about not working weekends. Kids never change, always wantin' to play on Saturdays."

It's easy to forget things like weekends exist. Jensen usually works straight through and individual days lose their meaning.

"Y'know, you can take time off. Drive into Kansas City or something and save me the overtime."

"You don't pay me overtime," Jensen points out.

"I don't?" Gerry's grinning, contour lines make his smile deeper. An expression Jensen wouldn't mind seeing on the farmer's son. "Well, don't call the authorities on me and I'll see about fixin' that."

Jensen quits early that day when a line of storms march through, driving fat drops of rain into the soil and lighting up the sky. He drives back to the Claridge's ahead of the churning clouds but he gets drenched on his way up the stairs.

Sunday, he's back on the farm and it's the quietest day of the week. Jensen clears debris from the violent weather with a few other hands who decided on working, and he never once sees Jared.

By Monday, his relief has morphed into frustration. It's past noon and there's no sign of Jared coming out to work. A shade of Jensen's old personality itches for any kind of confrontation: the sharp burn of a fight with the rush of adrenaline that kick-starts other needs. He buries his annoyance in the fields, working hard alongside a dozen other men.

He's knee-deep in composting soybean plants on Wednesday when Jared shows his face.

"Miss me?" Jared asks dryly. His mouth is unaffected, pulled in a tight line. Wrinkled gray shirt over darkly threaded jeans, toes on display in leather sandals; Jared clearly hasn't come out to work.

Jensen doesn't bother voicing a response. He keeps piling stalks and roots onto the compost heap, Jared standing idle by the tractor Jensen drove out here. Jared's arms are tense across his chest, thigh muscles tight under his impeccable jeans.

Fight or flight. Jensen waits for Jared to decide.

"It was drugs, I bet."

Jensen stops with moist dirt all over his arms. He feels every speck of it on his fingers, under his nails where it's gotten into his gloves.

"My dad told me what you were like when you got here," Jared says. "That you were desperate."

Everything's decaying right in front of him—life reduced to its simplest compounds under the sun, at the mercy of the elements. Those same forces haven't spared Jensen. He's been stripped down to will and instinct and need.

"I've known guys like you." Jared's voice drops lower, out of place in the sun-drenched afternoon. "You get hooked on something, mess your life up for a little while. And you come out here looking for penance or looking to forget about your problems. But soon enough they're gonna follow you and it's only a matter of time until you fuck up again—"

Jared hasn't stopped talking when Jensen strides by him, looking for any path through the field that'll take him away. Far, far away.

~~~

Huddled beneath stiff cotton sheets, Jensen can't stop shaking. His arms hurt; the veins under his skin won't stop throbbing. The ache makes him sick. Fitting that he's taking his first sick day.

It's worse than it used to be. He feels, unfiltered and inescapable. He claws deeper into the sheets, blocking the urge to get out of bed and speed as fast as he can back to civilization.

Someone knocks on his door after noon. The Chevy parked at the curb is a good clue he never made it to work. Pam's soft voice calls through the door; Jensen moans back that he's fine. _Just tired_.

He catches himself in the bathroom mirror, sun fading behind the drooping curtains. Jensen's body is the product of two months in the fields as Gerry's handyman. Arms finally filling out, more than bone and lean skin. Sun-fresh instead of a sickly, translucent pallor.

One step forward.

But his face hasn't come as far. He sees every old scar in his dull irises. Notices every single hit in the fine lines on his face. Today the dark smudges are more pronounced; his hair is sweaty and unkempt.

Two steps back.

Another knock comes with dinner. Jensen's so hungry, he barely notices what he's eating before it's gone. One ache satisfied, another rushing in to take its place.

Jared.

Jensen could leave now and start over, well aware that he only gets so many chances to reset. The east coast is off limits. His brain might self-destruct and save him the trouble of slowly killing himself. He could head west again and hope his luck holds. Glue's wearing thin, though. No telling if luck can take Jensen's weight much longer.

He wonders if it will carry him through tomorrow.

~~~

Jensen parks in the main drive instead of the dirt lot. He and the engine sit idle, work just getting started on the farm.

At six a.m. he walks into Gerry's office with the final version of his apology already coming out of his mouth.

"I hope you bein' here means you're feelin' better," Gerry starts before Jensen can complete a sentence. His posture's all wrong for the padded desk chair—awkward in something that's supposed to be comfortable. "'Cause if not, take the rest of the weekend off to sleep through it."

Gerry looks up from his computer and catches Jensen's confusion.

"Well?"

"Sorry, what?"

"Are you feeling better?" Gerry stand and rounds the desk. Jensen doesn't shirk away. "My son said you got pretty sick the other day—said maybe it was a stomach thing. He told me you'd likely need a day or two to get over the bug."

Jared may have no qualms about it but no part of Jensen wants to lie; he decides to side-step the facts.

"I'm fine," he says. "Ready to get back to work if that's okay?"

"Fine, fine." Gerry stops to yawn. "Excuse me. Well, I won't keep ya. I'm glad you're back 'cause Jared couldn't handle half of what you normally get done."

"Jared?"

Gerry nods with paternal sympathy. "I admire him for trying, and he covered some of your work yesterday, but my son's got a lot to learn."

Jensen takes careful steps out of the office, following Gerry to the front door. The farmer goes left towards the barns but Jensen stops and stares at his Chevy.

On the open tail-gate sits someone unexpected; Jared's leaning back, face tilted away from the sun, and his eyes are closed like he sleepwalked all the way out here. Jensen knows it's too early for Jared to be out here for no reason.

There are a few feet of open space on the tail-gate. Jared's eyes stay closed when Jensen hops up and sits, fingers aching to fidget but with nothing to grab onto. He's not ready for anyone to have a hold over his decisions, barely secure in his own ability to make them. If Jared's stolen that hard-bought freedom—

"What do you want?"

"Ugh." Jared makes a pained sound and sags like Jell-O that hasn't set. "More coffee."

"What?"

"You've gotta have, like, an endless supply of it around here somewhere, right? You guys are fuckin' insane getting up this early."

Jared turns his yawn into a full body stretch, arms and legs going taut while he sucks in a few deep breaths. When he finally cracks his eyelids, his pupils are tight, looking right at Jensen.

"So, how are you?"

Jensen expected bitterness—a warning or an ultimatum. Jared's bleary brand of concern throws him, but the farmer's son shrugs off his silence the same way he always has.

"Guess I don't deserve an answer. Whatever."

He may not, but Jensen gives him one in the form of another question.

"You worked when I wasn't here?"

Jared moans, nothing pleasant in the sound. "Don't mention it."

"But you—"

"Seriously, _don't_ mention it. I'm sore as shit and I don't even want to think about yesterday."

Jensen grants him that and he tries to wipe Thursday from memory. Two tractors and a hauler pass by—the truck shakes under their thighs. Jensen waves to a few of the workers; Jared just yawns again.

"If we don't get going, I'm gonna pass out right here, I swear. What are you working on today?"

"Trenches."

"There're more?" Jared whines pathetically.

"There are always more."

"Well, I was right," Jared says. They both hop down, Jared more careful in his movements. His clothes match Jensen's in wear and tear this morning. "This is gonna suck."

~~~

They've cleared a quarter-mile by lunch, the trench ready for a new irrigation system to be run through, and Jensen's heard more than he cares to know about Jared's childhood pets— _I wanted a dog but the cats kept having new litters so I made 'em all nametags_. His first car— _totaled it less than two weeks after I got it and I thought my dad was gonna throw me in the thrasher_ —and his time at college down in Florida.

"You know how people say they're on the five-year track and you think they're lame for not getting it done in four years like everybody else?"

Jensen has no clue—colleges were like exclusive clubs and he had no illusions about his chances of ever getting across the velvet rope—but he nods.

"I'm on the six-year plan, I guess, so I'm a bigger loser than everyone else."

Jared's not even twenty-four. He's lucky to be in control—Jensen's nearing thirty and he's lost more than a few years along the way—but Jensen doesn't tell him. Shovel in hand, Jensen stops and watches the way Jared tears through a patch of roots ahead of him. The effort's new and confusing. Maybe Gerry lit a fire under his ass and this is punishment.

That wouldn't explain why Jared's twisting back to look at Jensen, grinning through his pain. And nothing explains why Jensen tells him, "I don't think you're a loser."

"Come on." Jared throws his weight behind the shovel. "Everyone thinks I'm a loser. I bet you did at some point."

"I won't judge you," Jensen says, and he couldn't; Jared is unpredictable, working right next to Jensen when he could have been watching him drive off the farm permanently.

"Huh." Jared flings soil onto his pile and stops. "Fuck, I'm dying. Can we stop for lunch?"

"I didn't bring anything."

"No shit," Jared laughs. "Let's go back to the house."

Jensen waits on the wide back porch while Jared pulls lunch together. Dull thunk of kitchen cabinetry, Jared calling out a few times for Jensen's opinion on various foods.

The noise of the farm feels distant; he and Jared are the only ones around the sprawling two-story main house. When Jared comes out with two plates balanced on one arm, sodas in the other hand, Jensen's sitting on the steps with the vast lawn spreading out at his feet. So wide and open, Jensen could launch himself into the sky and never fall back.

"Leftovers. The best I can do."

The sausage is spicy, a hint of the smoky charcoal it was cooked over, and the beans are honey-sweet and not too hot.

"There's more inside," Jared says, mouth half-full. Jensen hadn't noticed how fast he was eating. Jared's got a third of a sausage and a few spoonfuls of beans left on his plate.

"I'm good."

Jared glances side-long at him. "The beans are my grandma's recipe. My dad bakes an entire pot when he makes them. Trust me, there's plenty. Looks like you could use some more."

Jensen sets his plate aside, fingers tracing the simple floral pattern around the rim. "Meaning?"

"You still look hungry," Jared says after he swallows another bite, licking sauce from the corner of his mouth unconsciously, nothing else behind his words that Jensen can hear.

Without asking, Jared refills Jensen's plate when he goes for seconds. He cleans that one, too.

"I'm not used to having a lot," Jensen says after Jared takes the empty dishes back to the kitchen.

"My dad cooks like a fiend sometimes. My grandma taught him, so he was always the one making dinner when I grew up here." Jared's eyes lose their wistful focus. "So yeah, we usually have extra food. Just ask or something."

Back at the trench, they're sweating in a matter of minutes. Cutting through the soil on auto-pilot, Jensen's mind is stuck on something he hasn't gotten the chance to ask Jared about. The question jumps out when Jared twists to pop his sore spine.

"You lied about what happened on Wednesday."

Jared looks back, the sun striking his face full on, eyes narrowed but not in anger.

"Why didn't you tell your dad about me?"

"I didn't need to." The farmer's son stands tall amongst the summer crops, wrists crossed on the spade, instantly looking like he's worked these fields forever. Lines of dirt are written across his shirt, a stray streak on his left cheek. "He already knew. My dad's never needed me to figure shit out for him."

Jared uses his boot-heel to bury the point of his shovel deep. Jensen can't move, the essential connections severed, but Jared glances back and sighs.

"He thinks you're great." His mouth twists when Jensen scowls. "And no, before you ask, I wasn't trying to convince him differently. He likes you."

"He doesn't know me."

"Does anyone?"

For a second, Jared seems shocked to have asked but it's quickly masked. His focus returns to the job and there's no longer an endless stream of words coming from his mouth. Whatever Jared wants to say, he keeps it close and leaves Jensen to struggle silently with his question.

~~~

Not everything changes.

Jared's work ethic comes and goes, more temperamental than the old John Deere Jensen's been re-adjusting for a month. Some mornings, his father watches him head out with Jensen as the sun breaks the horizon's plane. But there are days Gerry nods Jensen off with his curt assurance that Jared'll be along. Gerry never looks disappointed one way or the other.

And either way, the days are no less back-breaking. Gerry offers Jensen a place in the sheds, processing and sorting. Tells him he can even work the fields everyday with the hands, but Jensen likes the variety of being a handyman, immersing himself in any task.

Jared doesn't settle so easily. On average he's sour. Too little sleep, too little coffee. Too much work or too much of Jensen being Jensen. He acts like an asshole and calls Jensen a dick when he gets riled up and Jensen pokes at him. But he does it with a grin, so Jensen ceases to feel attacked.

There are days when Jared can't stop talking even after Jensen purposely flings dirt on his boots to get a quiet reprieve. Other days, Jared studies Jensen for a while then turns to work in silence. Odd moments come when Jensen's gripped by the urge to ask about Jared's stinging outburst but he's gotten attached to his relative peace, afraid of the burn an epiphany might bring.

But Jensen starts to sleep better. He wakes up in the dark but he feels rested, like sleep is something more than a way to pass the time between dusk and dawn.

There are days Jensen imagines that he messed up again just like Jared had predicted. Couldn't banish his problems forever and Jared's words had driven Jensen back into the cold, smothering embrace of chemical oblivion. Making everything since his relapse just a vivid hallucination that'll inevitably shatter into razor-sharp pieces.

He's never been able to avoid getting cut.

A rough spear of bark smacks Jensen in the shoulder then drops innocently to the dirt. Jared is glaring when Jensen looks over.

"I didn't know I was doing this shit by myself." Jared's axe is half-buried in a large root that's meandered too close to one of the irrigation hubs. With the chainsaw on the fritz, Jared and Jensen are left to curtail the growth by hand on Friday afternoon.

Jensen shakes himself out, relieved when no cracks appear. "I needed a mental break."

"'Cause chopping is so fucking strenuous."

"As strenuous as replacing barbed wire was yesterday when you blanked out for half the day."

Jared laughs—more of a bark, sharp and instinctual—and kicks a thick segment of root. "Dick. Just keep digging."

~~~

The old Mr. Coffee grumbles. Jensen's in first on Saturday morning, leaving him to start the first pot. He needs the caffeine fix too much to wait patiently; sticks one of the old 4-H mugs sitting on the counter directly under the spout to catch the freshest coffee, then replaces the carafe.

He's alone in the large production shed, a makeshift kitchen and break area—nothing more than a sink, mini fridge, and counter cordoned off with a rickety dining set—tucked into one corner. Coffee burns his already chapped lips but the sizzle of energy is worth the sting; Jensen sips and walks back to his truck parked by the maintenance shed, ready to load up and get going. A pair of long, denim-covered legs shove his plans aside.

"What the hell?"

Jared reacts too fast, knocking his head on the hood of the truck. He peers out, grimacing.

"Fuck, man," he curses. "Warn a guy."

"Get outta my truck." It twists Jensen's stomach to see Jared's hands all over the only possession he has that's worth anything.

"Don't be pissy," Jared says, absently wiping his palms on his jeans. "I saw you were here and wanted to check out your engine. Sounded like crap last week. There's gotta be a problem with your—"

"I don't care." Jensen stalks up but Jared doesn't falter. "It's fine."

"It's not." Jared squares off with him, shoulders set. "You're lucky it hasn't crapped out on you."

Nothing in Jared's eyes reads as anything less than the truth.

"Doesn't matter," Jensen says. "The shop'll take one look at it and start laughing."

"I've been looking at your truck for weeks and I'm not laughing. C'mon." Jared waves Jensen into the cab. "Pull it around into the shed's exterior bay and I'll take a closer look."

Jensen doesn't mean to laugh but the gut reaction feels strangely good. "You do engines?"

Jared's wide palm slaps down on the hood with a dull crack after he closes it. He grins at Jensen through the windshield. "I'll meet you out back."

Dappled, leafy shade plays across Jensen's face and shoulders. His eyes catch stray rays of light when the breeze kicks up. Jared's not enjoying the benefit of shade, bent over at the waist, wrist-deep in the Chevy's engine and talking more to the machinery than to Jensen.

He's never known a perfect day, but Jensen moves this to the top of his unsurprisingly small pile of good ones.

Jared never gave Jensen the chance to up and leave for a day's work after he'd pulled the truck around. Promising to take care of everything, he'd waved Jensen over to where he is now, sitting on the warped picnic table under the shagbark hickory with a glass of lemonade and a clear view of the farmer's son-cum-mechanic.

"My step-dad's into cars," Jared had said when he popped the Chevy's hood again. "He made sure I knew my way around an engine by the time I was eighteen and it took care of the father-son time my mom insisted on." He'd stared at the Chevy's rusted innards, taking apart the puzzle with his eyes. "I know more about cars than I do about him." Then he'd relegated Jensen to a strictly observational role at the table with the drinks and cinnamon-and-sugared toast he'd grabbed from the house.

Right now, Jensen feels useless but it's Saturday and Jared wants to fix Jensen's truck. Simple, enough to quiet Jensen's anxiety.

Jared breaks into a sneezing fit, one right after another. He shakes his head, nose twitching and hair flopping around his ears, and turns red-faced to Jensen.

"Fuck me, sorry."

"Are you okay?"

"Caught a whiff of something," Jared snuffles, "but I'm good. Have you thought about getting a new ride anytime soon?"

"Not if this one's still running."

Jared's mouth goes flat. "Might be a hard fix, but I can at least get it to where you're not gonna break down anytime soon. That'll give me time to look for parts."

"You don't have to," Jensen says. "I know the truck's in bad shape."

"That doesn't mean it can't be fixed."

Jared meets his eyes and Jensen knows the offer isn't casual, too much behind it to dissect. Jared folds back over the engine, his leanly muscled torso stretching the cotton fibers in his shirt attractively. His stomach tapers down—

Jensen immediately stops staring and gulps the bitter dregs of his lemonade. The sourness sticks in the back of his throat and he coughs to get rid of the taste. Jared looks over until Jensen nods.

The fact that Jared's a decent-looking guy hasn't escaped him, but that was the beginning and end of the issue. Nothing to add back when Jared was driving home the point that he was an unapologetic asshole and lazier than an old house-cat. With every scrap of decency he manages to show Jensen these days, Jared's true identity comes into focus. As if Jensen's looking through a camera and trying to find the right lens adjustment.

He sees things more clearly every day.

Jensen's never had a type. Looks and personality rode shotgun to getting his dick in someone—screw the details. The lifestyle worked him hard and dropped willing possibilities in his lap. Threw him to the wolves a few times, too. The drugs and the fucking went hand-in-hand, mouth-to-mouth. He'd lived for sensation and the faces never mattered.

He'd quit that like he'd quit doing a lot of things. Cauterized the wound and mourned the loss.

Jared has ripped into his scars one by one like a boxcutter dragged across his skin. Dull pain and agony, Jensen's felt it all since Jared's father chained him to the farm and forced the two of them together.

But the pain of this attraction is a sweet burn. Only aches when he thinks too hard.

Sweat bleeds through Jared's shirt, throwing Rorschach patterns onto the fabric that Jensen won't read too closely. Dark patches trailing in imperfect lines down to his belt, jeans held tight at his hips. His body's been refined by his recent stretch of hard work, the last traces of spare flesh worked off under the sun. Strong veins wrapping around his forearms pointing to thick wrists, now dirty and hot with grease. He's healthier than Jensen will ever be.

Jensen's fingers curl around the table's edge, digging so hard he comes away with weathered splinters under his nails. But he can't stop watching, glad Jared's focused on the Chevy.

"Are you coming tomorrow?" Jared asks when he finally takes a break, claiming the other side of the picnic table.

Lunch had been cold spaghetti and marinara; Jensen still tastes the sweet basil after a full glass of lemonade.

"I have to finish what I was supposed to do—"

"I'm not talking about work," Jared interrupts. He combs his fingers back through his hair, pushing the sweaty strands off of his wide forehead. "The party, remember?"

Gerry's birthday. Jensen remembers word going around. Everyone had been invited, Gerry claiming a day without work wouldn't kill anyone.

"C'mon." Jared must know where his head's at. "My dad wants you there. No one works tomorrow, that's the rule." His eyes plead humorously, fawning eyelashes and a quirked mouth. "I could say I'd make it worth your while but I have no idea what that would involve. Fuck work—and fuck thinking about work. Just show up."

It must be so easy for Jared to imagine—there's nothing sinister about a party. Nothing beyond drinking, having a good time, and stuffing that bottomless pit of a stomach. Jensen sees a minefield where alcohol can convince strangers that he's a different person, someone to use and toss away. Good for one time only.

But it's easier to say yes than to have Jared hanging off his shoulder for the rest of the afternoon. As soon as Jensen agrees, Jared's back to digging around the Chevy's parts, giving Jensen the skeletal basics of car maintenance.

He tries not to think about it.

~~~

Jensen keeps his distance from the troughs filled with bags of shredded ice and beer bottles in various shades of brown and green. The Padalecki's front yard is a maze of workers, families, and tables of pot-luck offerings. He had nothing to bring but Jared smiles when they catch one another's face in the crowd. Through the mess of people, Jared's easy to spot in a blue, striped button-down, buttery leather belt catching one of his shirttails.

Gerry corrals him by the potato salad.

"Glad you could make it." He's wearing the cleanest shirt Jensen's ever seen on him. Probably new. "If I'm forced to take a break today, only fair everyone else should, too. You doin' okay, Jensen?"

Gerry steps closer and gives him a look that discourages lying.

"A lot better than I could be," Jensen says.

Gerry's mouth pulls to the left in a smirk. It's the first time Jensen's seen a piece of Jared in his father, not the other way around.

"Ain't that the truth for all of us."

Jensen's left with a pat on the shoulder, holding a plate he hasn't filled. Potato salad's as good a place as any to start.

Inevitably, Gerry's dragged up onto the porch, his guests clapping for a speech. Jensen can't track down Jared in the yard. His father's talking about family and commitment, things Jared probably doesn't want to hear. Jensen understands why Jared hates farm life—hates the idea of being roped down so thoroughly to something when he's had a hard time keeping anyone close. Jared may never say it, but Jensen recognizes the cavalier attitude as loneliness. The kind that ain't cured by college buddies and summer booze-fests in Florida. His fear resides deeper.

Jared's so much like his father. Jensen sees him growing into a straight-shooter like Gerry when he can no longer use brute honesty as a weapon. His dad can temper the truth, encouraging growth instead of pruning back the brave new shoots.

Gerry invites everyone to kick back and have a good time— _so long as none of y'all are late tomorrow!_ —and steps down. The sun follows, sinking slowly.

Beers get knocked back, living while the night's still young. Jensen sticks around, watches and laughs with the guys until the bitter smell of barley and hops drives him away. He takes deep breaths, hides out around the far side of the garage where nothing can get to him.

Except Jared.

He stands at the corner of the garage throwing his long shadow across Jensen's legs.

"Glad you came?" Jared asks, touching the mouth of his beer bottle to his bottom lip but not drinking. His stare's deeper than Jensen's used to.

"It's a nice break." Jensen doesn't move but the distance between them narrows. So many people, so much noise from the yard; Jensen thought he'd worked up to this but even standing alone with Jared is suddenly too much. He side-steps away, slides along the wall and says, "Your dad's a good guy. He deserved this."

"Hmm." The bottle-neck rolls against Jared's chin, leaves cool condensation on his skin. "What about me, Jensen?"

"You?" Jensen looks up.

Jared stoops to set his half-full bottle on the grass and slowly comes forward. The stripes on his shirt are indistinguishable, blending into a single, muted color in the low light. Reluctant steps make his appearance less ominous but Jensen can't read the intent behind them.

He's not prepared for Jared's strike.

"Do you think I'm a good guy?" Jared's posture looms. "What do you think _I_ deserve?"

Jensen can't have heard him right. The tone—he's heard it before from the version of Jared he never wanted to be close to; the one who saw Jensen as he used to be and brought that past between them. Jared's voice is more painful now, sharply seductive. Jensen suffers the same withering disintegration as before, but instead of letting Jared drive him away, a vulgar anger takes over Jensen's senses.

"Fuck off, Jared. Right now."

As if Jensen's watching someone wake up from a stupor, Jared startles and his jaw drops. The change is so fast Jensen has trouble believing what he sees.

"Shit. I—Jensen, wait!" Two steps and Jared's reached Jensen's side, stricken into a stutter, his hands wringing in unforgiving knots. "That's wrong, I—this is all coming out so wrong."

In Jared's panic, Jensen could slip away. A significant part of him wants to; the cascade of emotions and chemicals driving his instinct to flee is one he used to trust. Easy, immediate. The rest of him fights to be heard, sets Jensen's stance and squares him against Jared.

"That happens too much with you," Jensen says, no need to explain. The reveal comes quickly in Jared's expression. "Tell me—why?"

"I—" Jared fumbles his words and leans forward against Jensen's chest. Jensen's strapped to the garage wall by his strong, capable body. He doesn't push Jared off; in the touch, he finds another piece of himself willing to press Jared.

"Spit it out or let me go."

"Fuck." Jared's head hangs low as if he's too tired to move, his forehead nearly touching Jensen's shoulder. "I never know what to do around you. I thought—I don't know. I don't _know_ you."

"You said you knew lots of guys like me," Jensen hisses, every inhale giving him more of Jared's close scent.

Maddeningly, Jared blows him off with a careless sound.

"No, you don't get to keep this to yourself. My life—you threw it in my face and I need to know—"

"You never react." Jared's only a breath away, but to Jensen's ears he's screaming. "You stare, and sometimes—I don't know—it looks like you _want_ to get pissed. When you walked away from me, that was the most I'd ever gotten from you. And—" he collapses. "That was when I learned the most, too."

Jensen lets their bodies fall together. Jared settles into the non-embrace, his breathing heavy against Jensen's sternum.

"What'd you learn?"

"That I don't know anyone like you."

It's simple, not even a compliment, but something Jensen's never had before. There had never been anything for Jensen to forgive—he may have hated what Jared saw in him but it wasn't new. It's not as if Jensen doesn't look in the mirror every day, green eyes meeting his reflection and accusing.

The kiss is not unexpected; Jensen's braced for the awkward press, dry lips, but not for the aftertaste of beer in Jared's mouth. Jensen's tongue strays back to Jared's lips to avoid the secondhand alcohol. He's trying to remember how this goes. How much he's supposed to give and what he's allowed to take.

Jared kisses like he doesn't care what he has to give, stepping into a position where their height difference is not such a disparity. The party and everything else fades from his senses. Jensen can't feel the dull edge of the garage siding digging into his back. Jared shoots right up into his veins, speeding to his heart and circulating from there.

It's nothing like dying, but it feels a little bit like living. The thing that's scared Jensen the most since the day he woke up handcuffed to a hospital bed, antiseptic burning his eyes while a more engulfing pain slashed through his belly.

Jensen's not ready to live like this. He breaks apart from Jared.

"I didn't know if you—" Jared tries, voice still stuck in Jensen's mouth. "Should we—"

"I need to go," Jensen says, ducking to the left, away from the party and festive lights.

Jared doesn't object, his strong presence muted. "Okay."

The rush doesn't abate when Jensen starts walking away, no footsteps behind him. Where the shadow of the building ends, Jensen looks back. Jared's turned towards the garage, watching Jensen side-long.

"You'll be here tomorrow, right?" Jared asks.

"It's my job," Jensen says, but he nods. "Yeah, Jared. I'll be here."

Jared half-turns towards the ongoing party. "See ya, Jensen."

They walk away at the same time.

~~~

Jensen tries not to slam the Chevy's door when he pulls up in front of the Claridge's. It's not too late, there's a flickering blue glow under the living room curtains, but the street's quiet as the weekend winds down.

Upstairs, he strips out of his t-shirt and jeans, meets his own eyes in the bathroom mirror. Streaked cleaner residue mars his reflection but it's clear enough for Jensen to find the prominent scars, the ones he was left with on the day he decided to give his life another chance instead of just dying a little more every day.

Other scars are harder to find, wrapping around Jensen's body in fine white lines and pink discolorations. Raised patterns floating like islands on his skin, telling a story. They've always been a way for people to catalog Jensen's abuses, but he barely remembers where the majority came from.

Just like the Chevy, Jensen's in bad shape only no one laughs at his imperfections. The truck's faults hadn't bothered Jared; he wasn't afraid of having his hands full with something others deemed beyond repair.

And like the old, green rust-bucket, Jensen had been written off by everyone until the Padaleckis took him in.

Lying in bed, there's nothing to hear beyond the high harmony of crickets and his own heartbeat. Jensen chooses not to think about tonight. The kiss could have meant anything. Could have meant nothing, too. Jared's in the habit of leaving him with few answers and too many questions.

For once, Jensen gets the urge to be patient because, for once, he imagines sticking around long enough for it to pay off.

~~~

Jensen drives into the north fields as the clouds bulge and thicken high above. Kneading the earth, they push the August humidity across the plains, sticky and uncomfortable air rolling out into the morning. Late summer heat in the Midwest is unforgiving.

His hands are sweaty inside his leather gloves, palms damp. Wiping 'em off doesn't help. Five minutes later, they're clammy again. His t-shirt ends up in his back pocket—not enough sun to burn more freckles onto his shoulders—leaving a white tank. The hat Jared gave him is marginally useful, catching some sweat before it rolls down his face.

Two hours into the day, Jensen needs a break. He's crouched down in the dim shadow of the Chevy when Jared walks onto the scene, kicking up dirt with his boots.

Neither of them talk. Water relieves the desperate ache in Jensen's throat, taking huge swallows. He puts up with Jared's stare until his break's gone on too long and work's calling.

"You're crazy to be out here today," Jared says, trailing Jensen back to the equipment.

"Does that mean you're not helping?"

Jared spreads his arms for Jensen to look. He's dressed for work. Rumpled, like he's five minutes away from going back to bed, but ready.

"Just tell me what we're doing."

After three more hours, Jared's collapsed next to the truck, arm flung melodramatically across his forehead. The most ridiculous damsel Jensen's ever known.

"No more," he's whining. "You're fucking insane."

"I've gotta get this—"

"We're gonna die if we stay out here," Jared interrupts. He pulls his t-shirt up to uselessly wipe sweat from his temples. Abs, lean and bunched, catch Jensen's eye for only a moment—the heat won't allow him a pleasant distraction.

The clouds had moved away mid-morning, leaving only muggy sunlight. Waves of diffracted light at the edges of Jensen's vision.

"Let's at least go back and eat." Jared's already made up his mind, standing and replacing Jensen's tools in the truck. And since Jensen barely has the energy to drag himself into the cab, let alone argue, he goes, stomach already rumbling.

It really is too damn hot.

~~~

"You always get what you want."

Jared laughs. "Is that a question?" A messy bite of his second sandwich leaves a glob of chicken salad at the corner of his mouth. Jensen watches as Jared pushes it past his lips with a finger, licking off mayonnaise.

They hadn't gone back into the fields. Jared pointed out repairs that could be done in the maintenance shed and Jensen went along. No telling Jared not to be smug as they sat with lunch under the shed's industrial-strength air fans—he ate the victory like cake.

"You know my dad," Jared says, "and you think that's true?"

Jensen says nothing. He's reduced one of the broken chainsaws to base components, trying to find the problem. Machines have always been easier to diagnose than people.

Jared never seems to mind one-sided conversations, the kind Jensen's best at.

"So maybe I do, except for my dad. And you—you wouldn't give me water if I was on fire." He pops the last of his chicken salad in his mouth and steps up to Jensen's work bench. A small smile is shared. "I guess that's easier for my mom, and Kent never cares enough to say no, you know what I mean? He probably thinks it would piss my mom off more if I didn't get my way."

Their hands coordinate, cataloging pieces of the chainsaw, roar of the fans acting as a blanket of sound when Jared goes quiet. If Jared's thinking about last night, Jensen can't see it. They touch coincidentally as they work and pass the afternoon with little more to say.

Jensen wouldn't know where to begin.

When the first chainsaw's fixed, Jared calls it quittin' time.

"My dad's cooking a tenderloin," he says, arching his back into a deep stretch. "Feel like staying?"

The _yes_ comes immediately to Jensen's tongue but he stays the word. He's spent all afternoon looking for an opening in Jared's expression, a way through to the meaning of last night, but he hasn't gotten one.

"Or some other time." Jared leaves him an out; Jensen takes it.

Jensen says, "Some other time," but makes sure he's smiling.

~~~

"Where'd you learn to do all this?"

Jensen's in the middle of fixing a shredder Gerry needs working by early afternoon. The second chainsaw is waiting its turn on the workbench Jared's propped against.

"Started picking up odd jobs when I was pretty young," Jensen says, biting his lower lip as he cranks a fresh bolt into place. "I got cash under the table before I was technically old enough to work."

"Did you like it?"

"Not all the time." Those memories are harmless, dull edges that don't dig as deeply as they once had. "But a few bucks was better than staying home."

"Really?"

Checking that the rest of his bolts are tight, Jensen jerks his head in a nod. "It was never really quiet. My mom had boyfriends coming through all the time so it was better to stay away."

Jared pretends to be fascinated by an orange-handled Philips-head.

"Were you—I mean, at home, did those guys ever..."

Jensen can't blame him for not finishing. When people know how Jensen's lived his life, they can't help assuming the worst about his childhood, looking for a reason.

"No." He takes a casual tone so Jared won't feel bad. "My mom just had a knack for picking assholes to bring home."

Asshole is a nicer word than any of his mom's tricks, pimps, and boyfriends deserve. They weren't pervs, not for anything Jensen could give them, but none of them liked having a curious kid around much. Jensen got in the way; he needed food, attention, and care. The first could be bought with whatever money his mom got from flat-backing it, but the rest was more than she could handle. She'd never hit him, but Jensen learned pretty quickly to steer clear of her latest boyfriend's fists.

Looking over, Jensen points to his toolbox. "Will you hand me another clamp?"

The instant Jared turns to reach for it, Jensen can see where it all goes wrong. His reach isn't long enough and Jared misbalances, knocking a hip into the workbench and tripping over his own feet. The hand and arm Jared throws down to catch himself land smack on the chainsaw's raggedly sharp blade, Jared's own weight driving the saw spikes through his skin.

Jensen's tools clatter and roll away on the floor where he drops them; he's at Jared's side before Jared can really process what happened, but not before the blood wells up where the blade's jagged limb-shredding teeth are buried in Jared's skin.

"Jared, don't—"

Jared rips his arm away on instinct before Jensen can stop him, red suddenly across the whole of Jensen's vision.

"Fuck! Holy shit—Jensen..." Jared's frantic, wide-eyed in obvious pain. Jensen's shirt is the closest thing that's remotely clean; he strips down to his tank and falls with Jared to their knees on the shed's floor.

"Hey! Hey, Jared..." Jensen tries for eye contact, wrapping the shirt tightly around Jared's hand and forearm, blood seeping through in oblong stains. "Hey, look at me."

When Jared finally does, his face is drained. A fear response more than any serious damage. Jensen keeps the pressure up, Jared's arm elevated between them.

"I don't—" Jared's breaths are coming too quickly. "I don't do well with—"

"It's okay," Jensen coaxes. He's had enough experience stopping blood loss in worse situations, but it's not a skill he could add to his resume even if he had one. "I hope you've had your shots."

Jared laughs as if he can't help it, expression faltering for only a moment but it's enough for Jensen to see the break in his eyes. A sudden opening, the vulnerability Jensen never gets.

"Shit—Jensen. This—this isn't good."

Jensen doesn't think before his lips find Jared's open mouth and stop the anxious rambling. No reaction from Jared yet, mind clearly stuck on the danger of bleeding out, but Jensen kisses him softly on his top lip and bottom. Waits in close-contact until Jared's breathing slows to pace Jensen's before pulling away.

"You're gonna be fine," he whispers. "I know."

Jared sucks in a deep breath, shakily letting it go.

"You know because you've had worse."

Jared's arm flexes in Jensen's hold; he presses harder. Jared waits for a denial, expecting one, but Jensen won't start lying to him now. Better to explain something bad than let Jared assume so much worse.

"Yeah."

"And you're okay."

"I'm okay," Jensen agrees.

A shadow moves across one of the bay doors. Jensen calls out.

"Hey, Al!" The man turns, takes a few steps into the shed and pulls up at the bloody scene.

"What the hell, Jensen? Jared, man, you okay?"

"He's fine," Jensen says. "Can you run and tell Emmett that we need him? Jared got into a fight with the chainsaw blade."

Jared chuckles, hisses when he tries to move his arm.

"Shit, dude. Yeah," Al says, big boots clomping as he turns out of the shed again. "I'll be right back!"

Muted yells reach Jensen's ears. Emmett Halloran's been at the farm for a good two decades. A former Army medic, he's the closest thing to a doctor on the grounds. Jared's calmer, panic drawn back into his eyes for now as they wait.

"You know," Jared says softly, "I said I wanted your attention."

"This was a dumb way to get it."

Jared laughs and Jensen's glad to hear the stronger sound.

"Yeah it was."

They look at one another, Jared's pulse throbbing steadily under Jensen's fingers. Of the number of things either one of them could say, Jared only gets the chance to mutter _thanks_ before Emmett runs in with the large first-aid kit, Al behind him shouting that Gerry's on his way over.

Jensen moves out of the way before he can figure out exactly what Jared's thanking him for.

~~~

A breeze cooler than anything Jensen's felt in weeks follows him in from the fields on Friday. The sun's going down, a full burst of color like fresh, sweet hay in the west.

Jared's standing on the porch with Emmett when Jensen heads for his parked truck, the old medic's mouth caught in a wide smile. Head thrown back, Jared's laugh comes easily, like he hasn't worked all week. And really, he hasn't. Not to mention, he's the reason Jensen hasn't done much hard-time on the job since Tuesday either.

 _Pest_ , Jensen thinks. He smiles with his next step.

Emmett waves to Jensen as he walks off the porch. Jared leans on the railing, one hand loose over the wood. That hand's wrapped good and tight—Emmett's work—and gives Jared a perfect excuse to sleep until noon, emerging to bother Jensen after lunch.

When Jared hasn't been around, picking up tasks like supply runs or making phone calls for his dad, Jensen's kept to himself. Like the old days only in solitude, not attitude. He'd worked in the shed the day after Jared injured himself, sticking close but never letting himself into the house to see Jared. He'd fixed the shredder, but left the second chainsaw to sit in disrepair a little longer. Served it right.

Since then, field-work's been like solace, a retreat from everything that's happened since Sunday. A kind of release in toil until Jared wandered out in gym-shorts and a t-shirt washed down to its softest, hovering until Jensen gave up and paid attention.

Sometimes it really was easier to give Jared what he wanted.

"It's Friday night," Jared says, a barely noticeable swing to his hips.

"I know that." Jensen climbs the three steps up onto the porch, Jared grinning side-long at him. "How's the hand?"

"Throbs all the time, and it's a pain in the ass to shower with one hand." From a cooler between the rocking chairs, Jared pulls two sodas and hands one over to Jensen.

"Take a bath."

"Eh." Jared shrugs; they pop their tabs in sync. "It feels manlier to suffer through the shower. And our tub barely fit me as a kid, not sure it'd even work for me now."

Other workers pass on their way out, back tires spinning dirt into the air as most of 'em head into town to share the lightness of Friday night.

Jensen leans forward on the rail next to Jared, sipping and tonguing along the aluminum rim.

"My dad's already gone to meet up with friends at the Hickory, but I've got tons of leftovers," Jared says. Jensen's well aware that with Gerry and Jared under the same roof, no one would ever go hungry in that house. "You should stick around."

He's been dodging similar invitations all week, but tonight Jensen has no reason to say no. And he knows for a fact that Jared will do his best to make Jensen miserable if he dares to work tomorrow, or even suggest it. Saturdays are sacred. Or something.

"Can I wash up?"

"Oh—" Jared's honestly surprised, grin back on his face. "Yeah, sure, of course."

Wearing a fresh button-down he'd grabbed from his truck, and with a clean face, Jensen feels less like the dirty farmhand come for dinner. Jared has invited him in, pointed him to a bathroom, and turned towards the kitchen. Jensen follows the wafting notes of brown-sugar squash and roast beef to where Jared's standing by the stove.

"I set your can on the table. Want anything else?"

"I'm good," Jensen says, grabbing his soda. He'd slipped off his boots at the door, left his socks stuffed down in one. The kitchen tile feels amazingly cool on his bare soles. "Can I help?"

"If you wanna grab plates and stuff, over here..."

They balance the work until everything's ready, less awkward for Jensen than being stuck watching. With Jared's one hand out of commission, his help is pretty much a requirement. Finally sitting on opposite sides of the kitchen table, they eat. Or, Jensen eats and Jared inhales.

Casual conversation picks up between bites once Jared's on his second helping. Simple things like farmwork and new equipment. How Jensen still hasn't fixed the chainsaw that had wounded Jared's pride as much as it had his arm and hand. Circling more invasive topics but never landing.

They divvy up the last of the sweet, baked squash then clear the table. Jensen's grateful for dinner—and to have company for once—and trying to figure out how to say that when Jared makes another offer.

"We've got movies," he says. "Pretty much all kinds. Or there's got to be a game on somewhere."

Jared wants him to stay.

"My dad won't be back 'til later, but he won't care." Jared must read the hesitancy on Jensen's face; his casual demeanor suddenly changes to a quiet intensity.

"I should go." Jensen backs into the front hall, Jared slowly following.

"Just a movie, I'm serious," Jared pleads. "We don't have to—"

They don't, but they could, and Jared definitely wants to. Jensen's less clear on the idea, a tug-of-war in his chest pulling him towards the door.

Jared steps up close to Jensen. Closer than he's been since Sunday, to the point where Jensen can see how he's affected. Fine ripples of emotion give away tension beneath the surface but Jared says nothing, searching Jensen's expression as thoroughly.

Physically, a kiss would be simple. Their chests nearly touch when they exhale, and Jared's lips look invitingly soft. His bandaged hand pauses a few inches above Jensen's hip. And Jensen wants to kiss him, but not here. Not in Jared's—his father's—house, Jared acting as if Jensen belonged there.

Jensen knows better.

He moves to the side; Jared gives him space and drops his hand. Resigned, but not happy about it.

Foregoing socks, Jensen slides bare feet into his boots. Halfway between Jared and the front door, he turns.

"I'll see you later," he says.

"Yeah, have a good night, Jensen."

Jensen lingers too long and wants to apologize. For tonight, for everything. Knows that will make things worse, so he leaves and doesn't look for Jared's silhouette in the front door when he climbs into the Chevy.

~~~

By Sunday afternoon, Jensen has had too many long, silent conversations with his reflection, arguments running the gamut from inevitability to sabotage. He's having trouble deciding whether to feel depressed or guilty, two of the last things he wants to be faced with.

Self-sabotage, ironically, is less destructive. Jensen had ruined a good night, as close to perfect as he was liable to get. An opportunity to stretch out this thing between him and Jared, explore a relationship. He'd forgotten what that's supposed to feel like until now—that warm, sweet connection. Wonders if he ever knew it in the first place.

Jared had done his best to bring them equal on Friday night. Balanced the terms, rooted their time in their friendship. Drawing them towards more but Jensen's got one foot stuck in friendship, not even sure he deserves to have that.

Jared's voice, remarkably clear in the forefront of his thoughts, argues. As stubborn as the real thing, he calls Jensen's bluff and refuses to back down. The Padalecki men sure know the way to get under Jensen's skin.

At first he thinks it's his stomach rumbling, but Jensen makes out heavy footsteps on the stairs, two voices talking.

There's a thump outside his door and Jensen hears Jared yell.

"Hey, Jensen! Open up, my hands are full."

He sweeps into the room like a stiff breeze, shouldering Jensen aside as he steps through with an armful of food, which he unloads on the dresser. Jensen looks back outside and sees Pam Claridge stepping through her screen door into the house.

"Did you know she was my fifth grade teacher?"

Jared grins, an olive shirt fitted across his broad shoulders, buttoned only to his sternum. Classic-cut jeans, boots, and a buckle the size and shape of Texas. He looks good next to Jensen's second-hand shirt and old jeans, holes at no extra cost.

"No idea," Jensen says. "What's this?"

"I interrupted Mrs. Claridge on her way to bring you lunch." Jared nods at the two bottles of tea, thick turkey sandwiches on paper plates, and potato salad with festive chunks of bell peppers. "She offered to make extra for me if I was staying, so of course I said yes."

Jensen stares, not sure if he should focus on the food or Jared's lean hips. Choosing neither, he looks at the clean, white bandage around Jared's hand, remembers why it's there and winces.

Jared reads the twist of his mouth all wrong.

"Don't say you're not hungry, 'cause I'll totally eat yours too."

"No, I am."

"Sweet, let's—" He stops, realizing there's nowhere to sit besides the bed. "Picnic?"

The air conditioner sputters on in the window frame, condensation gathering on their bottles of iced tea as they sit across from each other on the floor.

"How'd you know I was living here?"

Jared chews and swallows a mixed bite of potato salad and wheat bread. "My dad knew, and it's not exactly a big town."

"So you thought you'd just stop by on your way to...?"

"To nothing." Jared washes his bite down with a few gulps of tea, lips smacking on the citrus flavor. "I grew up here, remember? I get why you spend a lot of time at work, because this town's boring. I thought you might want some company."

Jensen understands they're both guilty of misjudging one another. For weeks, he'd only seen Jared as the miserable asshole upset about his ruined summer. It's been easier lately, tolerance becoming acceptance, until Jensen realized he _wanted_ and one kiss had shaken them right back up.

"Hey, you with me?" Jared leans over their empty plates.

"Just thinking."

"Uh-huh," Jared mutters. "Do you want me to go?"

Jensen shakes his head. He likes seeing Jared here, his small space somehow made larger with Jared's presence. Sharing a meal, just like Friday night but the details make the difference. Jared came to him, such a simple gesture orchestrating a shift in their circumstances.

He clears their plates to the dresser and comes back to the floor. Jared's sitting cross-legged, knees folded wide and welcoming.

"I'm glad you came over," Jensen offers.

"Thanks," Jared says. "I guess I was worried after the other night. You kinda left in a hurry."

"It wasn't you."

"Really? It's usually me driving you off." Fidgeting, Jared tugs at his hair with his unbandaged hand, scratching at one of his rough sideburns. "Figured I said something wrong again."

Jensen can't say that Jared never comes out with the wrong words—he actually does it a lot, and not just around Jensen.

"You didn't." Jensen pulls his feet under him, sits up.

"Whatever, I'm sorry. I just—" Jared sighs. "I don't know what to say to you. I'm always apologizing, or thinking about apologizing for something." His posture wilts. "I mean, is there something you want me to say or, like, a magic word?"

"What are you talking about?"

"I've been trying to figure out what I can do to make you talk to me. Like you want to talk to me, I mean." Jared stands, backs himself towards the bed and stares down at where Jensen's kneeling. "Anything to really let me get to know you, 'cause I can only get so much when we're working. I tried to piss you off, that got me somewhere. I kept doing that until I thought you were ready to kill me—"

"And then you tried being nice," Jensen fills in the next piece, getting to his feet. "Working and talking all the time."

"When that didn't get me deeper, I had to try something else."

"Is that why you kissed me?"

Jared's eyelids fall and he shakes his head. "When it got to that point, I realized that I wanted it. Yeah, you were blocking me out, but I wasn't clueless, and I'd really started to like you."

Before he can say it, Jensen hears it. The but. The turn where Jared rescinds what he's starting to offer. Jensen folds his arms across his chest, mouth gone dry.

"But how am I supposed to keep going, here? I've never wanted someone like you, but it's worse than that now. I sort of need you, not someone _like_ you, and that's a big, crazy first for me."

Jensen's no stranger to compulsion—letting the buzz in his veins flood every sense and giving himself over to the drugs. He's done a lot of things under a forced haze, but his head's clear when he steps in front of Jared, leaning in to kiss him.

It's not the insane confession or Jared's visit in general compelling him forward. He sees his own wants in Jared's eyes, confident that this, at least, is something they can do.

Jared reacts quickly and tugs Jensen closer. Their mouths are barely open, pliant lips pushing but no ground gained. Jensen feels the wetness just inside Jared's lower lip, the smooth line of his teeth. They lean away, find whatever reassurance they need on one another's face, and fold right back together.

They've never been able to kiss this way, time taken to explore. Learning, two parts adjusting to turn smoothly together.

Jensen lifts his left hand to Jared's jaw, thumb fitting under his chin, tilting Jared's mouth. Careful in case the moment collapses under pressure. That hand slides down over the round of Jared's shoulder and the strong angles beneath the skin. Jared never stops moving as the kiss escalates; he shifts on restless feet, slings his arms around Jensen's shoulders.

He wasn't planning on taking this to the bed but Jared walks them to the edge of the mattress. Rolling his tongue into Jared's mouth, Jensen wavers between standing and falling, body tense and indecisive.

Jared nudges their mouths apart, his stance wide so Jensen fixates on the terrifying depth in Jared's eyes when he opens his own. Bottomless hazel staring back, too much in them to help Jensen decide what he wants next. But Jared's uninhibited, slanting his lips back over Jensen's, mouthing at the lower. Jared uses his physical advantage and brings them lower onto Jensen's bed.

They're a heavy burden for the old frame, ominous creaks breaking the trance.

"Is this thing gonna hold?" Jared comes up on his elbows to avoid putting weight on his wrapped hand, Jensen lying close to his side.

"It's never had to hold up a house like you."

"Cute," Jared snorts, lays back and paws at Jensen's shoulder with his good hand to bring them closer.

"Did you—"

"Hmm?" Jared murmurs against Jensen's throat, pleasing vibrations Jensen hates to interrupt.

"Well, I didn't really know you were gay until..." Jensen stops and thinks. "How'd you know I was?"

He thinks Jared's not going to answer but his lips pause on Jensen's skin. Jared comes up with a gentle smile, a teasing tilt to it.

"You seriously never paid attention to me when I talked, huh?"

Jared weaves their knees effortlessly, Jensen not even trying to stop him.

"What?"

"I talked about guys a lot. You never got weird about it—well, weirder." He laughs, a bluff of air against Jensen's temple, when Jensen shoves him. "With you, I guess I gambled. I figured there was a good chance you'd deck me at the party one way or another, but then you kissed me back, so at least I knew you were open to it." Jared ducks his chin, finds Jensen's eyes. " _Are_ you? I mean, I'm definitely gay, but if you—"

"I've done a lot." Jensen doesn't let the honesty choke him up. "Not always things I wanted to do, but yeah, I'm gay."

Instead of lighting up, the gleam in Jared's eyes dims, dwelling on the wrong part of what Jensen just told him.

"You do—I mean, you want to, right?"

Jensen hears the fault line in Jared's voice, poised to tremble and crack. The more time Jensen spends with Jared, the more he sees the cocky exterior being shed.

"Yeah, with you I do," Jensen says, letting some of the air back in the room. "But I'm not sure that right now is the best time for us—"

"I'm sure." Jared kneels up and over Jensen's thighs, Jensen's stomach sinking into the mattress from the impact of how Jared looks on top of him. His belt buckle shines; Jensen's fingers itch to rip it away like it's a shield between them.

Dropping forward, hands outside of Jensen's shoulders, Jared brings their mouths whisper-close.

"Right now, you should let me show you what _I_ think."

Jared shifts his weight; the gauze wrapped around his left hand chafes Jensen's skin when Jared lays it along his jaw. A sure, guiding touch, they kiss again and again, so long that Jensen's trapped in the feeling.

It's not like being high where sensations are amped to the point that pleasure borders on hysteria, feelings indistinguishable from one another, until it crashes down. Jensen feels every single thing: the threads of the bandage on his skin, Jared's stomach against his, each coaxing flick of Jared's tongue. Pure. Unaltered sensations carried on nothing but arousal and endorphins.

Jensen's never needed much to get hooked.

Jared fumbles as he strips off his shirt. He must know not to let Jensen stop and have a chance to think, because he's back in a heartbeat, bare-chested. Pours ecstasy into Jensen's veins when they kiss and makes him need. Jensen can't find room in his head to resent the way Jared's trying—deliberately or not—to make himself an addiction. The thrill of his mouth is too good, a fix for Jensen's new cravings. An end to Jensen's withdrawal from his own life.

Jared's got Jensen's shirt halfway off before Jensen remembers.

"Wait—"

But the shirt's pulled over his head, muffling his protest. With Jared on top of him, Jensen's unable to cross his arms over his stomach. Jared's hair hangs loosely around his forehead as he looks down at the puckered scars marring Jensen's skin. He tries to redirect Jared's focus with gentle palms.

Jared says, "I saw the scars before. Just once." His voice is calm, almost detached, not drawing the irony of bringing up Jensen's physical imperfections with his bandaged hand soft on Jensen's cheek.

Jensen wants to curl in on himself but fights not to move. It scares him, but he should be judged for some of the things he's done. Jared has always drawn his own conclusions and whatever he thinks can't be worse than what Jensen has thought of himself.

"They're nothing."

Hazel eyes come up.

"I thought you didn't lie."

Jared lays warm lips over Jensen's sternum and, more skillfully than any detective, coerces a confession.

"They're something."

Jared hums, takes his mouth on a downward path that bypasses each of the stab wounds, and Jensen lets out the breath he's holding. The scars don't deserve that kind of intimate attention. He wants to surge up, take Jared's lips and thank him for not pushing—for his peculiar brand of no-strings-attached acceptance—but Jensen lays back, grips this sheets with one hand and Jared's naked shoulder with the other.

His jeans don't put up a fight against Jared's fingers. Jared bends his tall frame awkwardly over Jensen's hips, kneeling off to one side and pushing the jeans and underwear down, always careful with his injured arm.

Jensen's cock lays over his right thigh, already hardening, expectant. Again, Jensen is caught in the rush of how it feels to really want someone, mind and body together in the moment.

As Jared strokes, Jensen's hand wanders from the bed to Jared's groin, pressing and kneading the thickening erection under denim. The large buckle blocks his knuckles, quickly stripped away by Jared's hands. Jared doesn't undo his own jeans though, back to jacking Jensen with an even, maddening rhythm.

Jensen shuts his eyes, hisses softly.

Jared's mouth comes as a surprise.

Deep breaths become impossible with soft heat wrapping around his dick, Jared's injured hand pressing down on his chest. Balance or restraint, Jensen can't think to care. Jared's moans come and go, a thick, throaty vibrato that feels so damn good.

Jensen loses coordination in his hand, nestled in the bunched denim between Jared's thighs, squeezing when the pressure of Jared's mouth sucks him just right. Jared's hips tilt forward into his grip every few seconds, irresistible draw of friction.

He can't remember the last time someone sucked him off, but then he can't really recall a lot of specifics from the months before the stabbing landed him in the hospital, handcuffed to the bed rails.

This blow job isn't tentative; Jared's intense and rushed, sucking air through his parted lips when he comes up too fast.

"Is it good?" Jared asks, voice full of grit.

"Yeah—" Jensen's not really in a state to answer coherently. "Good, just go easy."

He lifts his free hand, strokes lightly across Jared's neck and shoulders. The pace settles to a slower, more languid and winding road to pleasure.

From this angle on the bed, Jared's features appear more fine-boned than Jensen's seen before, not delicate but sharp and precisely sculpted. Long, straight line of his nose, cheekbones widening on either side. Gorgeous and younger in years and experience. So different from Jensen, but he craves Jared in a way he's not used to.

Right then, Jared rolls Jensen's balls against the palm of his hand, cutting off all cognitive thought. Jensen thrusts up on instinct, deeper into Jared's throat, but Jared doesn't stop. Sucking until Jensen's nails bite hard into his shoulders, he finally pulls off and strokes Jensen's dick with a saliva-slick hand. Tight fist, he twists his grip and Jensen comes like that, spine snapping up.

Jensen's barely down before he feels his hand knocked aside as Jared fumbles, ripping down the zipper on his jeans and shoving his unbandaged hand in.

Jared's cock is thick and slightly curved, Jensen staring at the furious tug of Jared's fist, no room to add his own hand into the action. He mutters low encouragements, feels the cool tackiness of come on his lower stomach.

At the last moment, Jared bends down and kisses him, hips jerking against Jensen's side. Their lips bite and tease, Jensen keeps trying to duck away and watch—he wants to _see_ —but Jared tempts him back.

Jared comes in short pulses, groaning against Jensen's cheek, and falls next to him on the bed. Hands sticky, Jensen's skin marked temporarily with their mixed come, Jared winces.

"I didn't mean to make a mess," he says.

Jensen grins. "I think that means we were doing it right."

"Good to know."

In Jensen's past, drugs and alcohol smothered his relationships and kept them meaningless; he's never had to deal with the emotional aftermath of sex. His partners passed out or stumbled away, or Jensen was the one finding his way out of an unfamiliar bedroom before things got awkward.

But Jared's awake, up only for a minute to wash his hands and grab tissues for Jensen to clean himself off with. Then he's climbing back on the bed, unbuckled jeans falling open, pale skin showing above soft, dark hair.

For a second, Jensen thinks Jared's going to ask if he's okay. Glad he doesn't because Jensen has no answer. Instead, Jared rolls towards him.

"We should hang out for the rest of the day."

"Doing what?"

Jared smirks. Jensen's smile is almost a reflex.

"Grab dinner in town, watch a baseball game. Or," Jared shrugs, nothing innocent about it, "we could do that again."

"Sounds good," Jensen says, eyes tracking where his shirt ended up.

"Which part?" Jared sits up beside him, casually eager. He angles for a kiss and gets Jensen's cheek instead.

"The part about dinner."

Jared laughs, follows Jensen off the bed when he finally finds his shirt.

~~~

It's still early when the steel gray Dodge Ram pulls around next to Jensen's Chevy. If it weren't for four wheels and flatbeds, the two trucks would be complete opposites. Gerry steps out with his coffee thermos in one hand, cell phone attached to his leather belt. The farmer's jeans are clean and his shirt's ironed. Face clean-shaven, eyes bright and present, looking far more awake than Jensen feels.

"I thought I was gonna miss you," Gerry says, walking up beside Jensen at the door to the supply shed. "But Emmett told me you were already out here."

"I couldn't really sleep."

Gerry stares out into the fields, towards the east where the sun's now fully round above the horizon.

"Sometimes it just takes a long day out here to wear you down. You'll sleep well tonight, I bet."

They're both silent as Jensen loads up the Chevy's flatbed with tools. Normally Jensen would be sure that his face gives away nothing about what happened between Jared and him yesterday, but Gerry's perceptive like his son, just more subtle about what he learns.

Gerry says, "I'll be back on Thursday, but it oughta be business as usual around here 'til then. Need anything from me before I go?"

"I'm alright," Jensen answers, "but have a good trip."

"Damn business nonsense." Gerry rocks back and forth on the dirty concrete surrounding the shed. So comfortable in his own environment, reluctant to leave. Jensen sympathizes. "Keep Jared busy this week, don't let him slack off. Hell, I think he's still asleep."

Jensen sets the last tool in the truck, leans on the tailgate. There's nothing but humor in the farmer's intelligent eyes, but he's careful to only give Gerry a small reaction.

"Plenty for him to do."

Gerry sighs. "Always is. Well, take care, Jensen. When I get back, let's talk."

That has Jensen looking up but Gerry's already walking to his truck, climbing into the cab and balancing his coffee, a short wave out the window as he drives out towards the main road.

He can't let go of the comment all morning, trying to place Gerry's expression when he said it. As usual, the farmer gave nothing away.

Distracted, Jensen heads in for an early lunch. Al calls his name from one of the shaded tables set next to the main building.

"Hey! Jared just came by looking for you."

Jensen fights his smile.

"I'm surprised he's awake."

Al snorts. "Must be nice having the old man gone and sleeping in! Anyway, he said he'd be around the garage this afternoon if you wanted him to work on your truck."

Jared had done a pretty good job patching up the Chevy over a week ago when he first worked on it, but it's a good cover. No one would hesitate to believe that Jensen's rust-bucket needed more attention.

"Thanks," Jensen says. "Enjoy your lunch."

Jared's standing inside the wide bay door when Jensen pulls up, engine clunking as he pulls the key from the ignition. Jared turns, cell at his ear, and tilts his chin. He thumbs the phone off and shoves it in his pocket before Jensen gets out of the truck.

"Hey, have you eaten?"

"Not yet, but I have a sandwich."

"I brought out chips and sodas if you want some," Jared says. "C'mon, it's all on the table."

Jensen follows, sitting at the picnic table just as Jared's ripping into a bag of salt and vinegar chips. The sun can't work its way through the shagbark's thick foliage, a light breeze keeping the early August heat from being oppressive. Jared's across from him, knees touching under the old, warped table.

Jensen offers over half of the sandwich Pam had given him.

"Nah, I ate breakfast, like, half an hour ago," Jared says. "I know, it's pathetic. I meant to stay up when my dad left, but I went right back to sleep."

"How do you make it to class?"

Jared laughs and says, "I know not to schedule anything before noon. I could never do what you do." He stuffs a handful of salty chips in his mouth, chews and swallows. "I bet my dad's glad he didn't have to put up with my lazy ass all summer."

Been a while since Jensen's thought about the way he took Jared's summer job. Jared doesn't exactly complain. But in the midst of feeling good that his position worked out, Jensen remembers that his job, like Jared's time at home, was meant to be temporary.

He swallows a dry piece of his sandwich too quickly and coughs. Jared slides one of the sodas over, twisting the top.

"Do you have a lot more to do today?" Jared asks when the food's gone, the majority of the chips in his stomach.

"A few hours' worth, at least. Why?"

Jared's forehead wrinkles. "I thought—maybe you'd want to come hang out with me instead."

"Jared—"

"I have video games."

"I don't know how to play," Jensen argues. "And I need to work—"

"Then I'll play and you can, I don't know, take a nap or something. You probably got up really early."

"Jared—" Jensen cuts in. "I can't."

"What about dinner later? C'mon, my dad's gone but I have plenty of food. We can grill out."

"Maybe." Jensen's already picturing being alone with Jared tonight—the pressure, the way he knows he's going to want to get physical again, unable to forget how good it felt yesterday. And on the other side, knowing that there's no way he'll be able to fool around with Jared in his father's house.

Jared won't get a more committal answer than that and he knows it.

"Whatever," he throws back curtly. "I'll be around."

"Are you working today?" Jensen asks as they crumple their trash in a pile.

Jared holds up his left hand. "Still kinda stings. Can you manage without me?"

Jensen had been looking forward to having Jared out with him. He shrugs off the slight, heading back to his truck and leaving Jared with the garbage. Jared should be able to handle that.

The annoyance fades the longer Jensen works and by the time his back's all wrenched up from digging, it's forgotten. At quitting time, his stomach's reading empty and Jared, all too clever, is already grilling.

Jensen smells the charcoal, nose leading the way around the house to the back deck. Brushing the dirt off as best he can, he joins Jared, the sweet sizzle of hamburger meat is mouth-watering.

"This was low, man," Jensen says.

"Cooking so you wouldn't be able to resist?" Jared pulls a bottle of light beer to his lips . "Yeah, it was. But it worked," he adds with a wink. "I've got water and soda if you don't want a beer."

Jensen takes water, throat already dry from dust, the smoke not helping when he takes over grilling duties so Jared can heat up potatoes and grab thick deli rolls for the meat. He brings everything out to the deck, porch lights setting the night aglow.

They add cheese to the burgers before Jensen pulls them off the grill. Eating and talking at the same time is hard—the hamburgers are juicy and hot, mouthfuls of hot meat and tangy condiments. Easily the best meal Jensen's had in a long time.

When the food's gone, Jared pouts.

"I'm too full to move." He stretches languidly, careful of his full stomach. "Clean up can wait."

They don't speak over the sound of summer cicadas buzzing low and constant. Jensen falls into a contented daze, eyelids sinking, enjoying the peace as his thoughts slow to a trickle.

When Jensen looks over, Jared's eyes are closed. Stretched long in his chair, bare ankles crossed, he could be asleep. Chin dropped to his chest, profile lit by the deck light. He peeks through narrowed slits when Jensen starts to stand up.

"Sorry, food coma," Jared says, yawning and getting up to help Jensen with the dishes. They don't attempt more than piling things in the kitchen sink. "How about a movie, something totally cheesy and easy to ignore?"

Just like before, Jensen panics.

"Thanks for dinner, but I should head home."

"Home, seriously? There's nothing to do at your place, why are you in such a hurry to get back there?"

 _Because there is nothing to do and it's safer that way_. Jared wouldn't understand.

"I'm tired," Jensen verges on a lie, feeling awful. "I got here really early and tomorrow—"

"You can totally sleep in tomorrow if you need to," Jared interrupts. His voice teeters, frustration getting the better of him. Jensen never expected his patience to be infinite. "You know, I don't get it, Jensen. I thought we—I thought you liked spending time with me, but here you are trying to get away. Again. What'd I do this time?"

Jared blames himself; it festers in his tone.

"Nothing," Jensen says. "I just can't stay."

"But you won't tell me why."

If Jensen has to explain his ingrained hang-ups to someone, Jared's the obvious choice. Jensen could leave, let the questions continue to hang between them until summer's over and Jared's gone, but he's sick of running, too. Sick of getting what he's always gotten.

"I'm uncomfortable, okay?"

"With movies? Sure," Jared says, unattractively sarcastic.

"This is your dad's house, I mean—" Jensen pauses. The entire thing is clear in his head but isn't coming out of his mouth the same way. "Gerry took me on when I had nothing, and he trusts me even when I probably don't deserve it. I can't fuck that up, you know?"

Jared's forehead shows his confusion.

"This is about my dad? That's—I don't even know."

"No," Jensen quickly steps in. "Not really, I just can't do anything with you, _here_. It's weird, I can't get mixed up." He's rambling now, momentum of a freight train. "I work here every day and I want to spend time with you and do everything else, but it's weird. I feel like I'm still at work and being with you—"

He stops himself again. Jared's expression morphs between anger and humor; Jensen has no idea which he'll land on.

"So, stay and have sex, or leave," Jared says carefully. "You think you only have two choices here?"

He starts to laugh; Jensen folds back defensively and grumbles.

"That's more than I'm used to getting."

The laughter dies a speedy death.

"No, Jensen. That's not— _shit_. I wasn't making fun of you, but look. I know I act dumb sometimes, but I get that doing stuff here would be weird." Jared steps along the counter, closer to Jensen.

"I was a kid in this house," he says, laughing again but the sound is calmer. "I broke my arm falling down the stairs, and I stomped through this kitchen covered in mud more than once. When my parents divorced, I smashed a couple of dining room chairs to pieces and then hid in my room for over a week. So yeah, it's weird for me too. When I said hang out, that's all I meant."

Despite his doubt a few minutes ago, Jensen makes an effort to trust Jared. But the quick switch in emotion leaves him disappointed in himself.

"I don't think you act dumb," Jensen says. "Just crazy sometimes. And crazy doesn't bother me."

"I kinda thought you just weren't interested in getting to _know_ me, you know? Other than work and sex, I guess, and that's why you were in a hurry to go."

"I'm sorry."

Jared waves it off.

"I'm serious about the getting-to-know-each-other thing," he says. "So, all that said, will you stay?"

Jensen has to smile. "Maybe you are dumb, because you don't need to ask."

"Hey!" Jared playfully knocks Jensen's shoulder, turning him towards the family room. "Five years at college means I'm smarter than everyone else because I've taken so many classes! Now, are you making me pick the movie or what?"

~~~

Storm clouds bloom out of nowhere on Wednesday afternoon, turning the sky a thick, menacing gray. The rain hits hard, abusing dry soil and summer growth, seeming to fall in every direction but straight up.

Jensen flees in the Chevy, heading home for the day instead of back to the farmhouse. Jared pulls up to the curb right behind him and they're soaked by the time they stumble inside, leaving shoes, socks, and shirts in a sopping pile by the door. Laughing all the way to the bed despite the tingle shivering up Jensen's arms, they topple as their knees tangle in heavy jeans.

The rain beats on the window behind Jensen's bed but they don't let the intrusion in the room. They share fresh, wet kisses, stealing the rain back off one another's skin, and Jensen wonders how he survived so long without feeling. Nerves in his fingers are revitalized, eager to share the texture of Jared's cool skin with the rest of Jensen's body. His eyes see the way Jared smiles, absurd but sexy, and hold onto the image when they close in the middle of a kiss.

Every exhale, every hitch of breath that brings Jared's chest closer to Jensen's, he feels. Sex isn't a hard ride to the end anymore, it's a journey up and down Jared's long body—both of them getting naked along the way—until Jensen's on the floor with Jared's legs spread wide for him.

He doesn't have to do this. Jared doesn't say it, and hopefully trusts Jensen to know it. He does want to—wants to apply his new control over his senses to Jared, and relearn what he actually likes when the drugs aren't making cognitive decisions for him.

Jensen is the one on his knees but this is about both of them, Jared's hands going wherever they can reach, totally in the moment with Jensen. Enjoying the encouragement, Jensen responds enthusiastically, doesn't think to care that they've both been out in the fields, out in the rain. Jensen's nose drags against Jared's sweaty thigh and he tastes his way up to Jared's groin, tongue and lips tickled by the dark hair.

Motions are easy to remember, muscle memory taking over as Jensen works Jared's dick deeply. Fast as opposed to slow, Jensen wants the explosion over a long burn, a little impressed when Jared's fingers claw through his hair and hold as he teeters at the edge but doesn't fall.

Jared releases him, pulls him back up on the bed. Plenty of saliva on Jared's dick, a smooth rub as they're grinding together, hands groping down to help them both along.

They collapse almost immediately after they come, side by side on the bed and silent for a long time as the rain picks up its tempo, surrounding the garage apartment in a vortex of dull noise and darkness. But Jensen has a smile on his face, breaths evening out; the chill that lingers from the rain feels good, a relief after so many days of heat and humidity.

Jared shifts over eventually, pattern of Jensen's handprints fading from his skin.

"Are you hungry?"

"I'm still naked."

"Yeah?" Jared grins, blatantly eyeing all that nakedness. "Well, I'm starving."

Jensen pulls the sheet over his hips, Jared less modest when he stands up completely bare. Their clothes are wet and Jared hangs his jeans over a chair, fishing his cell phone out of one damp pocket.

"You'll eat pizza, right?" he asks, and dials as soon as Jensen nods.

Half an hour later, they've got two pepperoni pizzas, sodas, and paper plates for another picnic on Jensen's floor. White napkins sit in a neat pile next to the boxes but Jared licks the shiny, orange grease right off his fingers, comical wearing Jensen's thinnest, rattiest pair of cotton pants, hair mussed every which way. Glad they had sex first, Jensen stifles his amusement and enjoys the satisfaction of a full stomach.

"Can I ask you something?"

Usually, Jared doesn't ask permission—chooses to ask for forgiveness later if he feels he needs to. Jensen considers, then nods.

"Whatever happened—those scars on your stomach—is that what made you want to live your life differently?"

Jensen's been expecting the question but an answer doesn't come immediately to his tongue. He watches Jared start on another wide slice, tearing the crust off and eating that first.

"I got stabbed," Jensen leads with the most obvious point, imagining he can feel each scar tingle reflexively under his dry t-shirt.

"Wrong place, wrong time?"

Jensen's mouth twists. "Wrong people, very wrong time." Jared takes another bite and swallows. "It was a deal with guys I didn't really know, and it went bad."

Jared doesn't remark on the massive understatement but he uses the probing stare he's inherited from his father. Jensen wavers. He can stop there and let Jared fill in the rest, but _the rest_ is what's really important, the part of the story that matters.

"Someone got pissed, and everyone freaked. I was the only one without a knife." Jensen refuses to tell Jared that he wasn't even a part of the deal that night. He'd been blazed, leeching off some guy that had kept him that way for over a week. Used however the guy wanted and barely conscious enough to care. Jensen won't admit that to Jared, his hazel eyes intense but, so far, calm.

"I wasn't the only one who got stabbed," Jensen continues, "but I was the only guy who couldn't get up and run away before the cops showed up."

He'd woken up when the first knife split his stomach, his colorful world bursting to leave him in a dirty alley behind a strip mall, his blood far from the only stain on the concrete.

"Were you arrested?" Jared asks.

"Not that time. I was treated like the victim 'cause they didn't have proof of anything major. I was wrecked, yeah," Jensen clarifies honestly, "but they knew I didn't stab myself. And I could give them some information in exchange for letting the minor stuff go."

Jared doesn't say he's sorry like so many people would. He closes the pizza boxes, gathers their garbage, and stacks it to one side.

"Was anyone there for you?"

Jensen shakes his head. "After that, there was nothing for me to leave behind. When I got out of the hospital, I sold just about everything I had left and bought the Chevy."

A smile curls Jared's lips. "I like that truck."

"It's a pile of rust and scrap metal," Jensen says, but he's grinning. Hard not to, and the mood suddenly changes. "It almost didn't get me here."

Jared laughs. "Yeah, I know you love your truck, too. You can make it just about anywhere if you have a solid frame under you, and that truck's as solid as they come."

Jensen scratches his chin self-consciously and the story ends there. Jared lets him have his secrets, so much like his father. Both men give him freedom over his past and the chance to leave it there.

The storm had abated while they talked, sky dull under a thick cloud cover, but no rain. Jared gets up and pokes at his jeans—still damp.

"You can wear my stuff back," Jensen offers.

"Kinky," Jared says, expression anything but straight. "Thanks, I'll wash 'em tonight for you." He slips into his shirt, mostly dry, and his shoes squelch as he wedges his feet in. "So gross. Want me to take the trash with me?"

"I got it."

Jensen doesn't ask him to stay, but Jared kisses him at the threshold, in no hurry to go anywhere.

And Jensen's glad.

~~~

Gerry gets back on Thursday morning and he's pouring himself another cup of coffee when Jensen walks into his office. Less organization to the farmer's chaos than usual, there are papers fanned out across the farmer's wide desk, drawers packed too full to close properly.

Jensen waits in the doorway until Gerry looks up.

The farmer says, "This is why I hate leaving. Things are always worse when you get back." Relocating a handful of folders from his chair onto a massive stack behind him, Gerry sits and nods. "Have a seat."

"Jared said you were looking for me."

The farmer's son had wordlessly pointed Jensen towards the office and disappeared back inside his house. Wary of keeping Gerry waiting, Jensen hadn't gone after him.

"Would've grabbed you myself, but I kept getting snagged up with another phone call," Gerry says. "It's likely to take a week for me to catch back up." He sighs, smiling over at Jensen. "But that's business. Now, Jensen, let me ask you something.

"To tell you the truth, I didn't know what to expect when I hired you," Gerry admits. "I thought that if my son ever showed up, I'd let you go."

"I'm glad that wasn't the case."

The lines on the farmer's face accentuate the warmth of his grin.

"Same here," Gerry says, "and I'd like you to stay on past the end of the season."

"You want me to stay?" Jensen repeats, voice lame.

"I've never given you reason to think I wasn't happy with your work, have I?"

"No, but—" Jensen tries to think of a reason to dissuade Gerry, but one won't come. He doesn't want to let this slip by him. "I've been good here."

"That's what I was tryin' to say." Gerry pulls a blank piece of paper from the mess in front of him, like plucking a rabbit from a hat. As he talks, he jots his own points down. "Now, there'll be a few things to work out, you know. I can't pay you more than I do right now until you get trained up a little bit. There are classes on equipment repair in town and down in Kansas City—I'll pay for those if you want to take 'em—so you'll be able to work on more than just the simple fixes.

"I know you're reliable, Jensen, and that's what I need. Any of this sound good?"

"Yeah." Jensen leans forward in his chair, knees bouncing the way Jared's do when he's excited. "And the classes sound good. Whatever I can learn."

"I thought so," Gerry responds in a sure tone. "You've got a few weeks before the first class I'd like you to take, but don't worry, that one's at the county tech school."

"That'll be great," Jensen says. "Thank you, Gerry. You have no idea—"

"I might, Jensen," Gerry interrupts. "I just might."

The farmer spends a few minutes filling in details that Jensen will need him to repeat later on. His mind constantly circles back to the fact that he can keep his job—that Gerry wants him on the farm. He hadn't wanted to think about leaving the men who'd given him a chance here. Leaving Pam and her husband, and the first _home_ Jensen's lived in for a while that wasn't leased on sin, his soul as collateral. Leaving Jared, and the way he'd—

Jared. Jensen doesn't have to leave Jared, because Jared is going to leave him.

He has trouble listening to Gerry after that.

~~~

Jared never reappears.

Jensen breaks for lunch and Gerry mentions something about Jared making ' _school plans_.' In no position to pry, Jensen heads back out to the fields alone, work suffering for his distraction. He stays there longer than usual and Jared's nowhere to be found when Jensen steers into the main drive. With nothing else to do, he drives the Chevy straight home.

Regarding his reflection that night, Jensen's half-convinced he's looking at a stranger. His eyes are clear and aware, the only visible strain coming from a hard day's work. When he takes a deep breath, the wear lines around his eyes and mouth soften until he looks his age. Almost.

Time, no matter how kind, can't work miracles. Jensen's only looking for something to put in the win column.

The story of Jensen Ackles isn't heartwarming. It's not even heartbreaking—no one's going to pity him for fucking up as many times as he did. But fate took one last chance on Jensen and put him on the road towards the Padaleckis.

Jensen knows better than to think he's been cured. He'll always be an addict. The only distinction is that he's recovering instead of relapsing. He used to be poor, money burned away as soon as he had it, but he has enough now for... For something, he hasn't thought that far ahead. Thinking about the future releases a rush of something he's rarely felt before.

Anticipation.

The future means living, not just surviving.

As much as Jensen wants to keep this small victory all to himself, he can't ignore the role Jared's played. He's been more influential than Gerry—though Jensen knows he'll be forever grateful for the opportunities the farmer's given him—but also more of a pain in the ass. Jared has pushed him, over and over and almost over the edge. Not with kindness and compassion, Jensen thinks. Usually, the complete opposite.

It works; Jensen finds compassion stifling. Hearts of gold are good and all, but Jensen doesn't need anyone trying to fix him. His new life's not going to mean much if he owes someone for it—he needs to do the rough stuff on his own. Gerry might have given him this job, but Jensen forced himself to drive here every morning. He made the decision to stay and tough it out and, after Jared came around, he had Jared kicking his ass around every corner.

He needs Jared's indifference, the lack of guilt he makes Jensen feel. Along with Gerry's warmth and honesty, Jensen has found two men he can coexist with who aren't trying to rehab him.

Under his sheets, trying to fall asleep, Jensen remembers Jared saying he needed Jensen. In what way, Jensen has no idea, but it suddenly feels important to know.

And to find out whether or not that's going to end when Jared inevitably leaves.

~~~

"You've gotta be fucking kidding me."

Jared stops dead in the dirt and stares. Jensen can't even smile at the sheer levels of outrage on his face, because Jared's right—it's unbelievable and it sucks.

Jensen says, "Gerry told me he could come out later to give us a hand, but..."

But they're going to need more than 'a hand' to fix the now-mangled hub of one of the solid-set irrigation systems.

"Did it explode or something?"

"Not sure," Jensen says, crouching down to look at a piece of pipe laying at the outer edge of the mess. "Gerry said there was a pressure back up and without a release, this all broke down. It was the oldest unit on the property."

"This is way above my pay grade," Jared mutters, and Jensen laughs.

"You get paid?"

"Shut up."

They have nowhere else to start but at the beginning, scooping up a jigsaw-mess of busted pipe and metal fittings. The job gets harder as they circle towards the hub; bigger pieces and more effort to move them. Jensen forgot to shave this morning and the sweat gathers along his jaw, under his chin. He stops to wipe his face every few minutes, considering the pile of rubble they're building.

Just past noon, Jared flings his gloves on the ground, panting.

"Fuck, I've gotta stop."

They're not nearly done, but Jensen pauses. He's already dreading telling Gerry that this job's beyond him. No one short of a pro is going to be able to fix it; the best Jensen can do is clean up and salvage as many parts as he can.

Breath caught, Jared says, "Let's go grab something to eat and then—"

"I'm gonna stay."

"What?"

Jared's halfway to the truck, twisting his spine to look back.

"You go," Jensen says. "I'll keep working."

"You've gotta take a break, man. This mess won't be worse when we get back, I promise."

"Look, Jared, I said go."

The words sound harsher than Jensen intends; Jared's expression rolls ominously.

"You know what? Fine, I'm out. Since you _insist_ , you can finish by yourself." Jared pivots and yanks open the Chevy's passenger door. Water in hand, hat on his head, he starts back in the direction of the house—a considerable walk. "It was only lunch, seriously."

His stride is determined, and by the time Jensen thinks to stop him, he's out of sight.

Jensen exhales. He's barely been able to think since he showed up this morning, thrown right into the irrigation disaster. Jared had come out to work, not a word about his disappearance yesterday. No time to press for an explanation before they were ankle deep in soaked dirt and busted parts.

Too late to go after Jared, Jensen methodically collects debris, separating usable parts from scrap.

More than an hour later, Jared rolls up in his father's truck, mud splattered down the length of the running board and in the wheel wells. Jensen's exhausted but he stands as straight as he can, braced like he's waiting for a Midwest storm.

Jared's face is thunderous.

Jensen masters his surprise; he'd expected a repeat of yesterday's vanishing act.

"Stop staring," Jared snaps.

"I just didn't think you'd be back."

"Whatever." He gives Jensen his back, grabbing his hat from the driver's seat and speaking curtly. "I brought an extra sandwich. I'll eat it if you don't."

"Thanks," Jensen says, doubly surprised, but Jared's angry facade doesn't crack. "Are you—"

Jared cuts off Jensen's question with his own. "Can we just get through this? It's gonna suck so bad anyway. Let's just finish."

As far as brush-offs go, Jared's is brusque and cold but Jensen's mouth quirks in a half-smile. Seeing the farmer's son so _serious_ about work can't be anything but funny. But Jared catches the look and scowls, corners of his mouth drawn down deeply.

Jensen almost starts laughing on the spot.

"Are you helping or not?" Jared asks, arms folded tightly across his broad chest.

Jensen flashes Jared his most sober smile and gets back to work.

~~~

The sky is wide open above Jensen's head, sunlight bleeding out to leave a massive, blank canvas. Not yet dark enough for stars, but Jensen's not the type to lose himself in looking up.

Instead he looks over, Jared slouched back on the other side of the Ram's tailgate. His stare is absent, far away from Jensen and the empty dirt lane their trucks are parked on. Jensen half-wants to be wherever Jared's gone, but sitting here—Jared slowly draining a beer, Jensen with coffee—isn't a bad consolation.

They'd worked hard the rest of the day, conversation kept to a minimum. Jensen had been ready to drop when they finished, but Jared, with his crooked back and careful stride, muttered something about getting a drink and Jensen had automatically followed.

Jared drops his empty bottle over the side of the truck; Jensen hears it hit the dirt and roll. He pops his third with the opener on his keyring.

Jensen's too tired to worry about the alcohol or the effect it'll have on Jared. Jared's eyelids linger on the way up—he won't make it all the way through his six-pack. And he hasn't said a word yet, neither one of them has, content to let the evening roll by as they come down from an intense day.

Halfway through his beer, Jared says, "I heard about the job."

Jensen swallows a mouthful of decaf.

"I was wondering if you'd say anything."

"So you're definitely gonna do it, huh?"

"What d'you want me to say? Jensen asks. His filters are gone, worked down to nothing over the course of the afternoon. "I've earned this. It's a good chance for me."

Jared pulls his lower lip between his teeth, stares hard at the brown bottle sliding through his fingers.

"I've gotta head back to school in, like, a week," Jared says out of nowhere. "I thought—nevermind."

Jensen sets his Thermos to the side, tempted by the three chilled bottles left in Jared's cooler. He knew Jared had to leave at some point and up until a few weeks ago, Jensen never imagined he'd feel so strongly about it. His old life rarely gave him people to miss or times when goodbyes meant something. Jensen wants to wash down the bitterness but he keeps his hands still; Jared can't catch the fine tremors in the darkness.

"What were you gonna say?"

Jared sighs, says, "It'll sound crazy."

"I can take crazy, remember?"

Stalling, Jared finishes his beer and tosses the bottle. Jensen makes a mental note to pick them up tomorrow.

"Jared—"

"I thought you might want to go to Florida with me, okay?"

Jensen hadn't made a list, but this would have been the last thing he expected to hear.

"You'll have the job here," Jared goes on, sharp-edged words from tight lips. "I get that it means a lot to you so I wasn't gonna ask. But, you know, I thought about it."

"Why?" Jensen blurts it out.

"Seriously?" Jared stares at him. "I guess I thought we were getting along pretty well and I didn't want to lose that." Before Jensen can jump in, Jared goes on. "But you sort of belong here."

"I've never belonged anywhere," Jensen argues softly. "I don't have any roots holding me to one place, so I should be able to say yes—"

"Yeah," Jared scoffs. "You try telling my dad you have no roots here."

Jensen has no comeback for that.

Silence takes them both. Jared reaches for another beer but he doesn't pop the top, absentmindedly dragging his thumbs through the condensation. Darker now, Jensen's eyes adjust to take in the details of Jared's body: the focused stare on his angled face, tight line of his shoulders. His jittery fingers need an outlet for nervous energy, picking at his beer label.

Jensen sees all of this but has no idea what Jared's thinking, and he decides not to wait anymore.

"What do you see in me?"

"Huh?" Jared waits for more and when he doesn't get it, he sighs. "I thought I told you this."

"You told me you needed me," Jensen says and even in the dark, he can see Jared's cheeks flush. "But I want to know why. Jared—" he fumbles, "I'm empty. I can't give you anything."

Jared drums his fingers on the bottle, putting his words together while Jensen worries he said too much.

"You know," Jared starts, "no one's ever stuck with me as long as you have, and I never cared before because I was only looking out for myself. I'm not saying that I'm completely unselfish now, but I care about you and I care what you think about me.

"Now I've gotta go back to school and yeah, I'm selfish, because I wanted you there with me," Jared continues. "I know you won't let me dick around and you'll make me work so I can fuckin' graduate already. I'm not sure how I'm supposed to do that without you."

Jensen's voice is so soft he can barely hear his own words.

"What am I to you?"

"You're my friend," Jared says without hesitating. "And I want you around."

Jensen spent twenty-eight years making mistakes, and he's spent the last six months trying not to make any more. Cornered behind the garage at Gerry's birthday party, Jensen thought Jared was going to be the mistake that ruined everything.

He'd been wrong.

Jared shakes his bangs away from his forehead, wincing at the pull in his neck; Jensen's nursing the same aches.

"Christ," Jared mutters. "What a fuckin' day. I didn't meant to get all—" he raises his palm in a vague gesture, "—on you. I just can't believe my summer's almost over."

"No more early mornings," Jensen offers, and Jared's face twists.

"Don't, man. I was just getting used to being here, you know?"

Jensen says nothing but he knows. Jared had stuck out so glaringly to begin with, but he'd blended into the landscape and into Jensen's daily life. The dirtier his clothing got, the more Jared belonged, bringing the force of his personality with him. His sour mood that turned on and off like a sprinkler to soak Jensen's peace and quiet. Jared's smile, able to break through the clouds but never one hundred percent honest, as if he were keeping a piece of himself isolated and safe. Different than his father who gave it all whether he was grinning or frowning.

Jensen's having a tough time imagining the Padalecki farm without Jared. He pulls his feet up, dirt trailing from the soles of his shoes, and rests his elbows on his knees.

"I wish—"

The words struggle past Jensen's lips, sound so strange to his own ears. He can't remember the last time he wished out loud for anything.

Jared's looking over, eyes strikingly sober.

"I wish I could go back with you," Jensen finishes.

"Yeah?" Jared laughs softly. "Don't worry, I get it. I wouldn't up and leave for me either." He finally opens the bottle he's been fidgeting with for so long, pressing it roughly to his lips and taking a long swallow.

"Hey—" Jensen waits for Jared to put the beer down, meeting his eyes when he does. "That's not what I meant. There are things I just can't do. I wish I could because it's you who's asking."

"Aw, Jensen, how do you really feel about me?" Jared asks like he's telling a joke without a punchline, hurt cowering in his voice.

Jensen watches him carefully. Jared's eyes plead him to answer but his expression knows better. The defensiveness—the expectation of being left to loneliness all over again—is like looking in a mirror.

"That hard, huh?"

Jensen wasn't ready to give Jared an answer; he sighs, defeated. Jared's downing the rest of his beer like it'll quench his emotions, and the moment's gone.

"Look," Jensen says after Jared flings that bottle out of the truck to join the others. "It's been a rough day. Let's just go back."

Jared doesn't need to be convinced. As soon as Jensen carefully lowers himself out of the truckbed, Jared stumbles off and climbs in the driver's seat.

"You okay getting—"

"I'll be fine," Jared says. His posture collapses once he's behind the wheel, tone meeker. "See you tomorrow, okay?"

Nodding, Jensen waits next to the Chevy as Jared starts his truck, turns around in the narrow drive and heads back.

The Padalecki's Ram isn't there when Jensen drives up in front of the house. Under the porch lights, Jensen spots Emmett's stocky form standing right next to Gerry on the house steps. The two men stop talking and wave when they see Jensen.

He calls out the window, "Did Jared come by here?"

"He pulled up for a second," Gerry says, Emmett nodding along with him. "Said he was heading into town for a few drinks."

"Really?"

"Yeah," Emmett answers, patting Gerry on the shoulder and stepping out onto the driveway. "I'm headed that way now to catch up with everyone. You wanna go with me?"

Jensen shakes his head, makes sure his smile is friendly.

"Nah, I had a hell of a day."

"I heard," Emmett says. "Well, if you change your mind, the gang'll be at Hickory."

When Emmett steps away, Jensen's left staring at Gerry. The farmer hasn't moved from the porch, hands tucked in loose pockets, and he calls across the quiet night.

"You boys okay? Jared rolled outta here like someone lit a fire under him."

"Like I said," Jensen explains, "it was a hard day."

"I know that." Gerry's wrinkles deepen in the low light. "All the more reason to take a break and get a good night's sleep."

"I'm planning on it," Jensen says, adding a fake yawn around his words. He wrestles the Chevy into gear. "I'll see you around in the morning, Gerry."

~~~

Jensen's heart beats back the night, pulse pounding in his ears. He tosses well past midnight, body aching in too many places, rolls and smothers himself in the sheets until his face is squashed in the pillow.

His mind is far away from dreaming, knowing his time with Jared is running out, and he can't make the most of it. He can't even explain to Jared how this summer made coming back to life worthwhile. It's impossible to fit such a massive idea into words, never mind the right ones.

He should have tried instead of letting Jared sulk away. Mystery's appeal is overrated—Jared can only try so many times for Jensen's attention—and Jensen doesn't blame him for walking off. Seeing the imminent collapse on Jared's face left Jensen numb, a feeling he's tried to avoid after spending years senseless or high.

In his old life, Jensen would have brushed off Jared's affection, the feelings he stuttered through on that empty dirt lane. Justified by thinking he didn't deserve them, or that Jared was insane for bothering in the first place. This Jensen wants it all. He intends to keep it, no matter what that takes.

Just as soon as he gets some sleep.

Jensen flops onto his back, losing half the covers. Dry, cooler air hits his feet and he finally relaxes. He wonders, in the moments before he loses his grip on the night, which version of Jared is going to be waiting in the morning.

If he's waiting at all.

~~~

The sharp rap of knuckles on wood startles Jensen; he cranes his neck and sees Gerry grinning down at him.

"You're doing some heavy thinkin' there," the farmer says, friendly voice paired with an equally cheerful red and yellow plaid shirt. "How's lunch?"

Jensen swallows the last of his sandwich, made and packed with Pam's usual care.

"I know it's early but I was starving," he replies. "Couldn't wait, and I was over here anyway." Here being the Padalecki's front porch, Jensen's legs sprawled out, ass on the steps. His Saturday's getting off to a slow start, aches and exhaustion sticking around throughout the morning. "You don't mind, do you?"

"Of course not. I thought you mighta been coming to haul Jared out of bed."

"He's still sleeping?" Jensen's not really surprised, but he is jealous.

"I don't think he came back 'til two or three. Thought he only behaved like that down at school." Gerry scratches at one of the porch beams with his thumbnail. "You're welcome to go up there and give 'im hell if you want."

"I might," Jensen says, planning something much different.

Gerry thunks down the steps. The hand he lowers towards Jensen jangles.

"Meant to give you these before my trip." He drops the ring of keys into Jensen's palm, metal sun-warm and grounding. "Now you won't need to hunt me down every time."

Gerry walks away before Jensen can find his feet, whistling nonsense in the same cheery tone. Jensen's fingers wrap around the thick keys—a duplicate of Gerry's master set—and knows, with a shocking amount of clarity, what he needs to do.

The Padalecki's house is mostly quiet, filled with a low thrum of sound from the work going on outside. Jensen's steps creak and groan all the way up the stairs and to Jared's bedroom door.

He knocks with no answer, twists the knob and walks in, taking a few seconds to absorb Jared's space.

There is more personality in a single square foot of his bedroom than in Jensen's entire garage apartment: photos of a skinny, shorter-haired Jared placed in black frames on the dresser-top, a varsity letter dotted with gold pins surrounded by high school certificates all tacked to a bulletin board, bright posters of exotic beaches and famous athletes, and a twisted pile of sheets on the double bed.

The pile appears to be breathing.

Jensen steps further in and whispers, "Jared?"

The twisted mound heaves and one tan arm emerges, waving vaguely at the door.

"Le' me sleep," Jensen hears and he grins, moving up to drag the sheets away from Jared's shoulders, saying, "Not a chance."

Jared flails, keeping his face buried in the pillow, and makes a haphazard grab for the blankets.

"Not fuckin' cool, dude."

Jensen lets go and Jared burrows, never letting sunlight near his eyes. Avoiding Jared's akimbo limbs, Jensen sits on an empty corner of the bed and lets Jared think he's won this round.

The room, for all its personality, doesn't fit the Jared he knows now. Too much nostalgia and not enough substance—this hasn't been Jared's home in a long time, Jensen imagines. Two extra-large duffel bags are spilling out of Jared's open closet, neither one full, but Jensen looks away, back to Jared's buried shape.

Jensen's words won't wait—and Jared's breathing is too rapid to mean he's fallen back asleep—so he lets them go.

"Gerry gave me a full set of keys," he says, noting when the mountain on Jared's bed goes still. "It made me feel like I was a real part of this place, not just summer help, you know?"

He doesn't expect an answer; for Jensen, it's almost easier to think that Jared's not listening.

"I haven't had that feeling in a really long time." Jensen's fingers separate the keys on the large metal ring. He has no idea what they all go to, but he'll find out. "I've never been able to stick around, not that I ever wanted to before working here, and I'm not ready to leave.

"I meant it when I said I wish I could go with you. You'll never know...I mean, I don't want you to know what my old life was like, and yeah, it wasn't Florida, but it's too close to—"

Jensen cuts himself off to cover any tremor in his voice. He's more exhausted now than five minutes ago, feeling pinpricks behind his eyelids. When he opens his eyes again there's a mussed mop of brown hair peeking out from beneath the blankets.

"So maybe I can't go," Jensen continues, letting the words roll off without a clear plan. "But it doesn't mean you and I just end. We could try," he offers, unable to put a name to what they have. "I don't need to tell you that being here's changed me—I thought I was empty, but that wasn't true."

Jensen sighs. "You were what I needed. I thought I'd have to choose between freedom and having something, you know, with you," Jensen admits softly. "But I never felt crushed with sympathy, and you let me have my secrets. That meant—it means a lot to me."

He stops again and all sounds drain out of the room, wonders if he's crossed a line and Jared's not ready to follow him to the other side.

"Jared, you can make it through school without me," Jensen says. "I know you're a strong guy, and maybe you've learned something this summer about pushing through whatever's thrown at you. Don't lose out because you're not invested in your own life, because I sure as hell am, now."

Jensen drops his head thinking Jared can't see him.

"So, this is where I am, and I think I know where you are...besides being under a massive pile of sheets, probably hungover, and smelling awful." Jared must laugh despite his hangover; the soft hill jostles up and down. "I've gotta get back to work, so I'll let you go back to sleep if you need to and I—I guess I'll just see you when you're feeling better."

Crossing the room in a few strides, Jensen doesn't wait to see if Jared reacts, closing the door as he goes.

Strange to be the man walking away rather than the one left behind.

His body allows him a few deep breaths when he's back on the front porch, sunlight slanting into his eyes. High clouds meander eastward and Jensen's gradually pulled back in by the rhythm of the work around him, a constant beat he's come to enjoy.

Jensen doesn't mind working on Saturdays; everyone's got a job to do, but the relationship between the task-at-hand and the workers isn't as strained. He smiles as half a dozen men walk by on their way to the main shed, shouting Jensen's name and waving. He knows their names, remembers scraps of information they've shared about their families. Jensen's been accepted in their number, getting comfortable in the diverse group.

As bumbling steps from inside the house get louder, Jensen faces out into midday and waits for the clatter of the front door swinging shut.

Jared drags himself out onto the front porch, yawning as he stands next to Jensen at the railing. He's as rumpled as his bedsheets, squinting and puffy from restless sleep. And he obviously hasn't showered if he got out here so quickly.

"I was right," Jensen says, smiling to himself and hiding his blush from Jared. "You're rank, man."

"Shut up." Jared's voice is full of grit. "You can't just do that to a guy, drop all that and leave."

"I wonder who taught me how to do that."

"Dick," Jared flings back, no real punch behind it, deepening the smirk on Jensen's face. "I've never heard you say so much at once."

"Yeah." Jensen surprises himself sometimes. His entire summer has been one personality revelation after another. "Why'd you get up?"

Jared smacks dry lips together, pulls his bottle of water up, and takes a long swallow.

"I'm supposed to be working."

Jensen can't help the wry laugh stuttering out of his mouth. Jared knows he sounds absurd and blows off Jensen's dry amusement. They stand together and stare past the porch, past the entire day toward the looming end of summer.

Jared coughs, the sound painful through his scratchy throat. He says, "Last night, after you said you couldn't come with me, I thought about staying here."

"Why?" Jensen butts in before he can keep going. "You didn't want to come here in the first place."

"Things change."

If there's anything Jensen would understand, it's the unpredictability of life, but it explains nothing.

"Just a thought, like maybe you'd want me to stay," Jared says quickly, nudging Jensen when he tries to jump in again. "I know, that's crazy. You can be here on your own, I get that. And you should stay because you want to and it's the right thing."

"I—" For all Jensen's already said today, he can't come up with a response for that, staring openly at Jared as the sun stings sharply in the corner of his eye.

Silence again, at least between the two of them. A tractor rumbles somewhere behind the main shed, unintelligible shouts off further than that. No words until Jared's back crooks toward the railing, hunching his body over. He looks sidelong at Jensen.

"So what do we do?"

Jensen doesn't want to touch on the irony of someone asking him for direction.

"I don't know." It seems to be the only answer either of them has. "I think you get ready to go back to school and we just keep going."

"Just like that, huh?"

Jared's grinning when he says it, a little bit of life in his scrunched, exhausted eyes. Jensen answers with a smile of his own.

"Yeah, just like that."

~~~

Jensen keeps going and Jared's right there with him. After two long days, they've run out of words and not talking is easier than it's ever been.

Jared skips out of work early on Saturday afternoon. Jensen recognizes the makings of a brutal headache and holds no disappointment watching Jared head back to the house for a hot shower and a handful of aspirin.

Late on Sunday morning, a fresh-eyed Jared picks Jensen up at the Claridge's and they head into town. Jared's long hair is damp and dark from a recent shower, curling around his forehead and leaving a wet impression on the back of his gray t-shirt. Jensen's fingers tuck errant strands behind Jared's ear when they stop at one of the few traffic lights.

They order thick club sandwiches at a small deli where the owner clucks affectionately over Jared and his apparent 'growth spurt', throwing in a free bowl of homemade baked macaroni and cheese with their order.

Jensen takes some cash from his latest paycheck and buys himself half an hour at one of the bakeries doubling as an internet cafe. Jared sets him up with a free email account before he grabs them each a cup of coffee, dropping Jensen's on the table and walking out onto the sidewalk.

He only knows one email address, scribbled on a plain, white business card hiding in the back of his wallet. In a dry letter to his aunt, his mother's older sister who'd been the only one concerned with Jensen's bruises when she was allowed to stop by during the holidays, he quickly tells her where he's settled with minimal details. He's not expecting an answer, but he figures someone _somewhere_ might care that he's not dead.

Jensen's finished long before the door chimes happily at Jared's return.

They park the Ram in the shade along one of the many dirt roads running along the river. Water's low but the trees are full and green, draping over the truck and brushing the metal roof with gentle strokes in the wind as they finish their coffee.

Jensen enjoys the quiet moments as much as the physical ones, contrasting heavily with the stories Jared used to share about all-night raves and clubbing until the sun came up. Places that got his blood rushing, where he could flaunt his gorgeous face and amazing body, and become the center of attention for a night.

Jensen remembers what that kind of attention could end up costing a person.

Here on a lazy afternoon by the river, Jared's only got Jensen's attention but he has all of it, unconditionally, and Jensen hopes that's worth more.

~~~

Jensen steps out of the shower on Monday night after a long day in the sun. The water had been luke warm by choice, easing the burn on his forearms and untying the knots at the back of his neck.

He's dressed, dragging his towel through his hair one last time when Jared knocks on the screen door and lets himself in, flipping off his sandals at the door. Jensen's mouth starts to water at the rich smells wafting from the large paper bag Jared sets on the dresser.

"I think I've got enough food, but my dad was a little confused why we weren't eating with everyone else."

"Everyone?" Jensen asks, lifting warm Tupperware bowls out of the bag.

"Yeah," Jared says. "Every time he makes pot roast, it's a big deal. A lot of the guys stick around."

"Do you want to head back?"

"Nah." Jared grabs two plates, forks, and napkins, totally prepared for another picnic, albeit one with better food. "I like this better."

Gerry's pot roast is famous for good reason. Jensen craves more after their plates are picked clean, nothing left but sweet tea to wash it all down. Jared dumps the empty containers back in the bag and flops onto Jensen's bed with a decadently satisfied groan.

Head popping up, Jared pats the mattress. "I saved you some room."

Jensen crawls to sit with his back against the wall and watches Jared sink into a light food doze. Jared's face softens completely, a healthy brown glow to his skin. If Jared wanted, he could tell his friends he lazed all summer on some exotic beach—he has the coloring to match.

Jared's white t-shirt exposes a vee of clean, tan skin between his collarbones, soft cotton embracing broad shoulders, smooth fabric running down to his trim, narrow waist.

After a side-trip across Jared's wicked hipbones, the curve of his waist topped by another leather belt and soft, low-slung jeans, Jensen's gaze returns to Jared's face; his eyes remain closed, content, and his mouth pleasing. Jensen memorizes the dip in the middle of Jared's chin and the deep furrow above his lips, adding to the mental picture he'll keep once Jared's gone.

Jensen had promised he wouldn't slide into melodrama, but he wants Jared while he still has him. Scooting away from the wall, he moves onto his side next to Jared and touches where his eyes have already wandered, knowing he has the freedom to.

Jared isn't asleep for long once Jensen's fingers slip under his t-shirt and down the slope of his stomach.

"Did I miss anything?" Jared asks, yawn low and warm like a purr.

"Not yet."

Jared hums and shifts closer. "Don't let me interrupt you then."

Jensen gets his whole palm on Jared's belly, body heat drawn into his skin, before Jared rolls them into a kiss. He's never imagined being able to relax in a kiss but this one leaves the rest of Jensen's world behind, somewhere he never has to touch it again.

Jared's lips part, his mouth wet and sweet from the iced tea, and his tongue confidently draws Jensen's in.

Their shirts are tossed aside in minutes, a lightness to the way Jensen laughs when Jared pulls him back in, kiss never broken for long. No rush once they have bare skin to indulge in. Jared's hands are wide across Jensen's shoulder blades; Jensen's fingers skate their way around Jared's nipples. Jared's mouth is a sweet narcotic that could keep Jensen high for hours.

Touches turn rougher. Jared breathes out hard before flipping, fitting Jensen beneath him.

"Hey." He smiles down, mouth full of mirth, and sways over Jensen's body so their hips bump together.

"Are you trying to stop?" Jensen asks.

Jared shakes his head, messy hair swinging at his temples. "I think we're doing pretty good so far."

Jared puts his lips to other pleasures, a constant pressure as he kisses down Jensen's throat with a light and steady suction, never biting. Back up under Jensen's jaw, where his skin is so sensitive, and over his chin until they're kissing again, Jensen's panting mouth wide open and ready.

Jensen grips whatever he can reach: belt-loops, back pockets, the thicker fabric of Jared's waistband. He flexes into the curve of Jared's body while their tongues join between their lips. Jared scuffles with Jensen's jeans, pulling away and dipping his chin to follow his fingers down to the difficult button-fly.

"I hate these things," Jared mutters distractedly, lower lip between his teeth. "Get rid of 'em."

Jensen laughs, squeezing his hand down between them to help. "Are you gonna get me a new pair?"

"Yeah, just—hah!" He kisses Jensen victoriously, tilting back to drag the jeans down and off.

It's unfair to feel denim against his bare legs, Jensen thinks, throwing Jared onto his side and nimbly undoing belt, button, and zipper.

"Showoff," Jared grumbles, grinning. He's left in tight, navy blue shorts, snug like a band of fabric wrapped around his hips.

Jensen's mouth goes dry, wanting. Eyes sweeping up and down appraisingly, Jared looks happy with what he sees too. His expression is smug, the turn of his mouth teasing, and Jensen crawls over him.

It drives Jensen crazy to go slowly, but it's worth losing what's left of his mind. Jared is responsive beneath him, no unease at all being held down. Below Jared's waist, Jensen lays his own light marks on the warm skin inside Jared's thighs. The fabric of Jared's briefs feels like silk on his cheek, skimming his lips across the elastic, prepared for the frantic grip of Jared's hands on his shoulders.

He likes the tease, the slow build. So many partners Jensen can't even remember, but all that matters is Jared spread out under him. Getting the chance to rebuild his identity with new experiences.

Jensen hates to see the briefs go but he wants what's beneath: Jared, hot and full against his lips. It's clearly something Jared wants, too, as he kicks off his underwear after Jensen tugs them down. Nothing corny leaves Jared's lips and Jensen's grateful—he doesn't have the presence of mind to laugh anymore.

His lips are a tight ring around Jared's dick as it thickens to full hardness, wet as he sinks down. Not far—not nearly enough time to get accustomed to this—but Jared's back snaps up like a whip crack and Jensen pulls off to catch his breath. Jared's fingers immediately loosen around his neck, gentling to stroke across his skin.

Jensen keeps a five-finger hold on his hips with one hand, uses the other to twist and stroke at the base of Jared's cock. Jared plants his feet wide around Jensen's shoulders, knees up and opening himself further. Jensen accepts the invitation, kisses wet as his mouth wanders lower.

The skin between Jared's legs is darker, blood-flushed like his cock, and Jensen swipes his fingers through his own saliva, pressing back and low just to tease, testing the waters.

"Oh—" Jared startles but doesn't buck away from the playful pressure.

Jensen needs a better angle, kneeling up to stroke Jared off with one hand and stimulate with the other. He can see Jared's toes curling into the sheets as his lower stomach clenches; Jensen adds to the pressure and the reaction doubles in intensity.

"Do it," Jared chants softly. "Do it, do it."

The first finger slides in easily with the spit from Jensen's blow job. Jared's dick shudders in Jensen's hand but he keeps twisting his wrist to balance pleasure and pain. Jared nods, eyes closed tight, and Jensen works in another finger.

He has no idea how far Jared will let him go—even this is far more than Jensen thought could happen—but he throws himself in completely, scraping together whatever he remembers to make this good. Slowly, always slowly, he fucks his two fingers in and out, adjusting his course until Jared's moan is perfect and deep.

"More," he demands, lips bitten and red so that Jensen can't resist leaning up and kissing him. "You can do more," he adds right against Jensen's mouth.

"I can't," Jensen says. He'll hurt Jared for nothing, least of all his own pleasure.

"Check my jeans—the back pocket."

Jensen has a dozen questions after he finds lube in Jared's back pocket but all he can do is gape until Jared smacks his thigh to get him back on the bed.

"That hurt," Jensen mock complains, settling back against Jared's freakishly high body heat.

Jared's voice still holds a broken edge as his eyes darken and he says, "I don't care."

Two fingers slide in easily with the slick gel Jensen's poured over them and Jared starts to ride against Jensen's hand. He's ready to get Jared off just like this, hands all over that body in ways he'd like to repeat as many times as possible, when Jared shatters him all over again.

"One more," Jared says breathlessly, "then you can fuck me."

"What?"

There's a delicate look on Jared's face—Jensen's never been the one worried about saying the wrong thing when they're together—but Jensen can't bring himself to say no. He's bending to Jared's demands almost unconsciously, pushing a third finger just inside to stretch him. He doesn't want to ask, but he has to.

"Why?"

"Because I want you to," Jared says like it's so simple. The way he's looking at Jensen, maybe it is. Jensen hasn't previewed this act in his imagination, carrying too many scars and mistakes from old experiences, always thinking he'd have to be the one on his back.

"I don't have anything."

Jared nods towards his jeans again. "Check my wallet."

They come together imperfectly; it's been their way since the first time they spoke.

Jensen fumbles with the condom, no longer any muscle memory for it, until Jared sits up and helps him, turning potential embarrassment into a slick hand-job that leaves Jensen harder than he's been all night. They kiss, but their eager tongues aren't enough of a distraction. On his knees, Jared waits patiently, spread and beautiful, for Jensen to get a hold of himself.

But sliding into Jared—more stops than starts— _is_ perfect. Jensen's dick demands a pounding rhythm to be satisfied, but he pays no heed, too caught up in being a part of Jared. He barely knows where to start, if he should fuck Jared or stare down at his muscled back and cocked ass.

Letting Jensen have his moment, Jared strokes himself, one elbow on the bed for balance. He feels Jared's body move around him, urging him on. As soon as he starts to push, Jared's hand drops off his cock and reaches back to Jensen's thigh.

Jensen slips out more than once, Jared's fingers right there to guide his dick into place. Eventually Jared uses his wide palm to push Jensen out completely, twisting onto his back while flaunting his less-than-obvious grace, and spreading his knees.

"Come on," Jared says, smiling to encourage Jensen to get back between his thighs. "We're not done yet."

Jensen's words continue to fail him but his body's in control, following where Jared leads. He brings them both straight to the edge, and while it's amazing—Jensen's blown away that Jared would do this—it's too much for him to finish this way.

"I can't—" Jensen pulls himself away, careful in those last few inches to keep from hurting Jared.

Jared's chest expands with a deep breath, eyes closed as if he's staving off an orgasm and even looking at Jensen will set him off. They lie there, folded together, until Jared nudges at Jensen's ass with his feet, pushing him up to straddle his thighs. Jensen hisses when Jared gently pulls the condom off of his sensitive, red flesh, giving Jensen a few easy strokes to calm him.

Jensen balances himself with two hands on Jared's chest as Jared strokes them both together. He notices that, along with his wrists, his fingers are thicker than before he worked hard to make a living. And rougher, but Jared doesn't seem to mind the callused touch. Jared's hands bear the wear and tear of manual labor, too: skin dotted with still-healing wounds from the chainsaw. The extra muscle makes for a strong grip around their dicks, Jensen pushing into Jared's hand with more urgency.

"I'm gonna—" Jared says before his body starts jerking. Jensen forces himself back and together, they get Jared off, Jensen catching the rest of Jared's broken cries with his mouth.

Barely savoring his orgasm, Jared snags Jensen by the waist and yanks him forward. Jensen's cock slides up the center-line of Jared's body—sweat, lube, and come in a swirled mess—and right to his lips.

Blown to within an inch of his sanity, Jensen paws and kneads at Jared's shoulders just to hold out. One more minute, one more second, but he's coming in short order.

He pulls away from Jared's mouth, legs giving an almighty shudder at taking his weight, and collapses next to him. Before the intimacy fades, Jensen kisses away the last of his come from Jared's lips. Jared doesn't let it stop there; he locks their mouths together in a long, languid kiss that stretches beyond the point when their bodies simmer down.

"We're pretty good at that," Jared says, his hair more askew than Jensen's ever seen it. Between playful shoves and sharing clean-up, there's no room for Jensen to ask about what happened. Jared's entire attitude and easy posture tell him not to worry about it; things happen for a reason.

Jensen sits on the bed in a fresh pair of boxers, tempted by Jared moving around his one-room apartment in his sexy, navy briefs.

"I don't have to go, you know," Jared says, dropping onto the bed and sprawling comfortably.

Jensen turns around to face him. "Did I ask?"

"You were appreciating the view," he purrs, less sex in the tone now that they're relaxing. "I didn't want to deprive you."

"You're using a lot of big words, what's wrong?"

"Maybe you fucked some brains back into me, who knows?" Jared smiles and tugs Jensen close before reaching back to switch off the lamp. "Try it again in the morning and I might learn a whole new language."

After that arousing promise, Jared begins to drift off. He shifts in his sleep until he's flopped on his stomach, feet nudging Jensen's on top of the sheets. Jared's really too big to share the bed with, but he unconsciously leaves space for Jensen to not fear getting shoved off.

Jensen lies awake until Monday becomes Tuesday, only days left before Jared packs up and leaves. He tries not to think about it. Instead, Jensen rewinds and replays a night filled with unexpected moments, fighting sleep until they're so deep in his memory they can't be erased.

~~~

On Wednesday morning, Jensen leans forward on the Chevy's back-end, elbows on the dry metal. Gerry's across from him in a mirrored stance. Even in the warm morning, their coffee steams up from extra large mugs.

The truck sits idle between them. Jensen had gotten to the farm early and found Gerry coming out of the house with fresh coffee, a _let's talk_ out of his mouth before Jensen set two feet on the ground. Whatever the farmer wants to say, there's no urgency for it. They've been sipping coffee for almost ten minutes while the dawn haze clears.

They're in a familiar spot, a dotted line of hickories neatly following the curve of the main drive before it stops at the Padalecki's house. Just across, the short road to the sheds and outbuildings. Three months ago, Jensen had stood here, frayed wires for nerves and next-to-nothing to his name, waiting on Gerry for a job, and for hope.

He'd barely been able to stand still under Gerry's stare during the first few weeks, afraid to see disappointment in the farmer's eyes. There's no question when Gerry looks at him these days, no more shaky habits that take Jensen's focus away from the job he's set to.

Today, he stands taller, thinks straighter, and trusts himself more than the addict who'd stood where they are now, a fugitive from his former life.

Gerry catches him mid-thought, saying, "I've gotta drive into Topeka to meet one of the guys from the irrigation company. He's an old buddy, so I figure I can get a deal out of him if I tell him I need a new unit in the spring."

"Alright." Jensen nods. "Are you gonna be back by tonight?"

"Probably not. I can always grab a room and start headin' back in the morning."

Jensen can't think of anything he'll need from Gerry so they fall back into easy silence. They'll finish their coffee, go their separate ways, and that will be that. Only, Gerry clears his throat, the same way his son does when he's reluctant to say something.

"Before I go, I wanted to say thank you."

Jensen would swear his heart falls out of rhythm.

"For what?"

"I didn't know how you and Jared would get on," Gerry says. "Hell, I thought Jared wasn't even gonna show up this summer." His fingers tap the side of the mug. By now, there's probably no coffee left in it. "My son's changed. He's not the same man I remember from last summer who had so much attitude and disdain for what life's given him. He's grown up a little bit, and I think that might be down to you."

Jensen ducks his head, tries to see a sensible pattern in the Chevy's peeling, rust-spotted paint.

What Gerry says is mostly true, but Jensen wouldn't call Jared a new man. If he could speak, he would say that Jared is softer now, less of a chance for anyone to hit a rough spot and careen off-course. However the change came, it can't be attributed to Jensen alone.

"Maybe Jared thought it was time to make sure his life was heading in the right direction."

Gerry smiles knowingly. "We all have those moments, don't we?" He lets up on his eye-contact; it can still shake Jensen when he's not expecting the attention. "When I hired you, I remember saying you needed two strong arms. I'm glad to see you have a strong heart, too, Jensen."

The farmer lets the subject drop after that, Jensen gulping down the rest of his coffee as a necessary distraction.

So much for being steady and collected, he thinks, before Gerry slaps a hand down on the Chevy and says, "Time to hit the road!"

~~~

Jared asks Jensen to get a cell phone and he can't say no. Jensen has a passing moment of guilt when they cut out early on Wednesday afternoon and take Jared's truck down to the Wal-Mart.

"You only need calling and texting," Jared says, flicking through the pay-as-you-go phones on the rack.

Jensen follows along and lets Jared rule out phone after phone. Jensen had lost his old phone the night he was stabbed—some cheap, flip thing—but he hasn't missed it. Half the numbers were connections he'd call to score, and the rest he couldn't recognize, probably added when he was barely conscious.

"Get me something cheap. Just calling is fine."

"Nah," Jared laughs. "We're going big. As soon as you take some classes, my dad'll give you a raise. And I text all the time, so you're gonna need a phone that covers that."

"I changed my mind," Jensen jokes flatly, pretending to turn and walk out of the aisle but Jared snags his shirt.

"Man, concentrate. The sooner we get you a phone, the sooner we head back." Jared grabs a package with bold white letters, turning it over and considering. "I know you're having conniptions from being gone."

"Dick," Jensen parodies Jared's usual taunt, getting his shoulder smacked right there in the aisle. "There you go with the big words again." That earns him a wink, Jensen going warm from more than one memory. "So, are you planning on calling me every night or something?"

"You bet, 'cause I'll be sitting in my apartment like a good little student, studying all the time."

"Right."

"Just wait and see," Jared says, handing Jensen the package. "Get this one and you'll be all set."

"Can I block numbers with this phone?"

"Sure, but whose number—" Jared stops, sees Jensen's amusement at his expense. "Oh, fuck you," he laughs. "You just try to block me."

Never in a million years, Jensen thinks as they turn and head for the check-out.

~~~

Thursday is quiet, the summer wind calming down to nothing. Barely a breeze strikes the hickory leaves on the trees behind the maintenance shed where Jensen finds Jared around lunchtime.

He's bent under the hood of Jensen's Chevy, a light sway to his slim hips. Jensen stalls to soak up the view and clears his throat.

"Get outta my truck," he jokes, not in the least bit bothered by the sight the way he used to be.

Jared turns his head back and smirks. "I was wondering when you'd be around. You were gone when I woke up this morning."

"Gerry could have come back early." Jensen claims a shady spot at their picnic table.

"So? Your truck was in the drive this morning. My dad's smart enough to know you wouldn't come to work that early."

Jared's right; Jensen feels like an amateur for not considering the truck but he'd gotten caught up in Jared after they'd watched a movie at the house, no one there to disturb them. In the end it had been easier to stay and sleep.

"How'd you get my keys?"

"I guess they fell out of your jeans last night," Jared says. "They were on the floor and I figured I could take a last look at your truck since I was pretty much done packing."

Jensen swallows. Keep going, he tells himself, his new mantra.

Jared is fiddling with caps, running an appraising eye over belts and parts Jensen can't even name.

"I've done what I can," he tells Jensen, wiping greasy hands on a rag in his pocket. "It's not perfect—"

"But it'll get me through, right?"

Their eyes meet and Jared says, "I hope so."

Jared sits down at the table,but Jensen's eyes stay on the Chevy. Six months ago, he didn't know if the two of them would make it anywhere together. Luckily they found someone like Jared; he's good with fixer-uppers.

"By the way, you look good in my shirt."

Jensen looks down and tugs at the soft navy blue fabric, his new favorite color. "Shut up. I needed a shirt and it was in the top of your dresser drawer."

"You were snooping, too, huh?" Jared sidles up even closer, touching the shirt with his fingers. "I think I wore this shirt in high school."

"I'll wash it and bring it back."

"Keep it," Jared whispers.

Jensen's reeled in by those clever fingers, not entirely comfortable with a kiss out in the open but they're hidden behind the boxy shed so he conveniently forgets to complain.

~~~

Gerry hosts a casual dinner on Friday to celebrate Jared's last night at home. Jensen figures donning all black for the occasion would be too obvious; he goes home to his apartment to change into clean jeans and a new shirt beforehand.

The Padalecki's dining room table groans beneath the weight of Gerry's feast, a dozen friends and long-time employees gathered around. Jared eats like a king, knowing he's about to be thrust back into eating whatever take-out he can afford at school. There's more than one six-pack in the fridge but Jared and Jensen stick to soda; they share long looks across the table while everyone else is wrapped up in friendly conversation.

It's a small wonder Jensen's not shaking.

Jensen laughs when he's supposed to, knowing how off-key the sound is, and enjoys Gerry's cooking as much as his nervous stomach lets him.

Jared appears torn; Jensen knows what excitement looks like, and he sees that tell-tale spark lighting up Jared's hazel eyes. But he also notices when that expression fades, leaving uncertainty.

Gerry has kind words for his son once the plates have been cleared, coffee and whiskey passed around to finish off the night.

"Jared and I haven't always seen eye-to-eye," the farmer's saying, a softness in his face, "but I've always been proud of him whether or not I get caught sayin' it."

The group laughs appropriately but Jensen's watching Jared, an unnamable emotion crossing his face.

"I've learned a lot about my son since he's been home this summer, and I wish I had more time—" Gerry stops and clears his throat, choked up with rare sentiment. "I know he needs to head back 'n finish what he started. I've seen what kind of man Jared can be, and I know that _when_ he comes back here," he stresses, looking straight at Jared, "he's gonna make me proud all over again.

"So, I'm sendin' him on his way with my best wishes," Gerry finishes before emotion gets the better of him. "To Jared!"

They cheer across the table and drink, Jensen savoring the coffee's warmth. Jared downs a single finger of whiskey along with his father, smacking his lips and getting a solid pat on the back from Gerry.

Jensen trails Jared up to his room after most of the guests have gone, a few stragglers staying to watch the final inning of a baseball game in Gerry's den. No one notices the two of them sneaking up the stairs.

"You're all set to go?" Jensen asks as Jared shuts his door.

"I didn't bring much in the first place. My flight's out of Omaha in the morning," Jared adds. "My dad offered but I was wondering if you wanted to drive me. We can take my dad's truck if you don't want to worry about yours on the highway."

"I thought you fixed it all up."

"Yeah, but his has a decent radio."

"Got it," Jensen says, smiling. "I don't mind."

They stand awkwardly apart between Jared's bed and the dresser. Jared laughs it off and sits back on his mattress.

"You're gonna be okay without me, right? No hooking up with the next cute guy who starts working here, okay? I mean, we need some ground rules."

Jared's trying hard to be humorous but his short, soft chuckle doesn't make it all the way to his eyes—they're bright and strained.

"I'm gonna be fine," Jensen says, avoiding the jokes. No one could replace Jared. "Keep going, remember?"

Jared sighs. "I know. I thought I'd be so fucking happy to go back, and now...this is nuts." He shakes his head. "Oh, I meant to tell you. Um, you can have whatever you want in here while I'm gone."

"What?"

"My stuff." Jared points to his boxy television-set and DVD player and the leaning stack of movies piled on the floor. "Or, you know, I have books, too. Lots of shirts, I know you like those."

"No, what do you mean?" Jensen clarifies. "You want me to take your stuff?"

"Yeah, why not? Look, I spent a lot of time here growing up and I told you it's boring. Work slows down a lot once you get past the fall and, I don't know, you might want stuff to do. Whatever you want, you're welcome to it because you're my—"

Something in that tangle of words snags Jensen and yanks him forward onto the bed. They fall back together, just holding on.

"Thank you."

"Don't mention it," Jared hums, tucking Jensen close. His arms fold all the way around Jensen's back, the safest circle Jensen's ever been in. Jensen knows, just _knows_ , that he's going to have this kind of embrace many more times, but it doesn't stop him from giving in to the moment for as long as he can.

"Let's go back to your place," Jared whispers anxiously as he holds Jensen. "I just don't want—"

Jensen returns the squeeze until the words disappear, nodding against Jared's shoulder. He doesn't want to be alone tonight either.

~~~

The first day of September is as hot as the first day of August had been. Fall waits around the corner—the season when everything begins to change—but one would never guess as a dry heat distorts the air.

Jensen sits at the picnic table behind the maintenance shed and leisurely eats his lunch. Pam Claridge has been experimenting with new recipes, fully expecting Jensen's presence at her Thanksgiving dinner in three months, and Jensen reaps the benefits with a deliciously thick turkey sandwich on buttered white bread.

The hickory's shade gives him a break from the sun. His Chevy, the only partner he's got these days, stands not far off, missing Jared's careful and patient attention. Like Jensen, the truck just keeps going without him.

Jensen works with the same intensity he's always had. He finds himself talking hours into his day, surprised when he looks up and sees no one there to listen. Jared laughs when Jensen tells him the story over the phone.

"See?" Jared says. "Now you know how ridiculous I felt carrying on one-sided conversations with you all the time!"

Their phone calls don't always last long. Jared has already picked up a part-time job as an assistant manager in his apartment building. It's slow, but it pays, and Jensen knows that Jared's stories about his graveyard shifts are going to get more and more ridiculous.

And, of course, Jared texts like a fiend at all hours with no filter. _I'm hungry, I need food_ is followed almost immediately by, _I'm horny, I need you_.

Thank goodness for unlimited messages.

At one o'clock, Jensen wraps up the rest of his sandwich and stashes it in the Chevy for later. He's set to meet Gerry, along with a few other pairs of strong arms, to start digging up the ruined irrigation hub and clear it out.

The work is a constant, and Jensen's grateful. When his long days are over, and Gerry hasn't invited him to stay for dinner, he heads back to the Claridge's with one or two new books he's taken from Jared's bookshelves. Old classics and modern thrillers—they're all new to Jensen.

He jumps into the Chevy and starts the engine, the deep rumble always comforting. His cell phone, sitting in the passenger seat, blinks with a new text message.

 _Keep going_ , it reads.

Jensen smiles to himself. It's easier than he thought it would be.

 

 

 **  
_epilogue._   
**

 

Jensen knows Jared is on his way, so close now. He knows because of at least a dozen different text messages sent since Jared crossed into Missouri, but he can't stop watching the road as the minutes drag by.

Early December frosts have turned the grass brown; the trees are skeletons of their former, cheery selves. The early cold means equipment that won't start, late crops to salvage, and winter preparations to get a handle on ahead of time. For the last week and a half, Jensen's worked like a mad man, knowing today was coming and wanting nothing in his way.

Gerry's right next to him on the porch, stone-still and quiet, eyes on the drive. They've waited for fifteen minutes since Jared last sent a message, neither saying a thing.

Jensen's respect for the farmer has only grown since Jared left. Gerry never hesitated to give Jensen a leg-up, or a kick-in-the-ass, when he needed it. Helping Jensen broaden his skills, arranging repair classes—he'd done whatever it took to keep Jensen moving forward and get him a bigger paycheck.

He has his life back, one he could never have dreamed up for himself, but he built it. So much more valuable for the effort he's put in and the people encouraging him. It's a rich life, and Jensen's no longer scared to lose it.

Five minutes pass before they see an SUV winding up the road. Gerry smacks a hand on the porch-rail and smiles at Jensen.

"It's about time."

Jared's new car comes to a stop in the main drive, thick dirt coating the bumpers, looking every inch like it's been driven hard halfway across the country.

Jared steps out, and Jensen's fingers tighten around the railing, time slowing to let him take in Jared's dark jeans, black fleece, and wavy hair combed back behind his ears.

Gerry's off the porch first, long strides bringing him right to Jared's side before he can open the back door for his bags. Father and son converse in low tones Jensen can't make out, and then Jared is looking straight at him.

Before Jensen can move, Jared comes up, taking the porch-steps in a single stride. His bags forgotten back in the drive, he wraps Jensen in a hug, the likes of which he's never known. Later, if Jensen has to put the moment into words, whatever he says would fall short of its true meaning.

 _Jared's back._

Saving their deeper reunion for later—so much promised during late-night phone calls—they stare at one another, grins on their faces.

"So, did you miss me?" Jared asks with a smirk. He brings his forehead down to touch Jensen's, speaking only for them to hear. "I bet you missed me a lot."

Jensen closes his eyes, gentled by the touch. But he grins and says, "Were you gone?"

"I don't think I was," Jared whispers. They both hear Gerry coming up onto the porch, and Jared takes enough time to brush his lips by Jensen's ear.

Gerry clears his throat and they both turn.

"Nice car," the farmer says. "That the one you told me you were plannin' on buying?"

"Yeah, I have a car payment now," Jared says. His face falls and he groans. "Ugh, I feel old."

Jensen, on the other hand, feels young and ambitious, a new lease granted back to him. He doesn't care that he and Jared only have a month together. Everything is wide and open from this point on and, as soon as Jared graduates in the spring, his possibilities will be just as limitless. Jensen's heart is full, but there's so much left to do. He'll keep going as long as Jared's there to push him and love him in the way only he can.

The three men step into the house where food is waiting, Jared's hand warm and steady at Jensen's back. Beyond that, a holiday season spent on the farm, surrounded by the family Jensen's pulled together for himself.

This is life, Jensen thinks.

This is _real_ life.

 

FIN.


End file.
